


Memory Cloud

by wily_one24



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Possible AU, and really really angsty present, confusing storyline is confusing, oh no not another memory fic, the one with the happy past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 73,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wily_one24/pseuds/wily_one24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hardly see why I should be responsible for a delusional break in reality caused by a concussion that woman received falling off a fifteen foot ledge that makes her believe we’re in a relationship!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Elmo's ABCs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/645076) by [wily_one24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wily_one24/pseuds/wily_one24). 



> **Pairing:** Depending on which character you ask, but... Emma/Regina.  
>  **Rating:** I think this is the mildest rating in one of my fics in a long, long time. PG. Maybe. We'll see.  
>  **Timeline/Spoilers/Setting:** Set in Storybrooke, pre-curse break, approximately mid season one. I would hazard a guess somewhere around  True North.  
>  **Disclaimer:** yeah, they're not mine. They've never been mine. They're unlikely to ever _be_ mine. I wouldn't argue, but it's not happening. Anybody out there think differently? Didn't think so.  
>  **A/N:** Originally perceived as a one-shot, but I am already getting ~~demands~~ , ~~threats~~ , ~~swearing~~ , polite requests for more chapters and a longer story here. Not sure what to do there or if there's a market in it.  
>  **A/N, part duex** : Could be seen to be connected to the same AU-ish universe as my other Emma/Regina AU fic as linked.

Emma picked herself up off the forest floor, brushing leaves and stray dirt off her jeans. This was completely the last time she was going to chase escaped dogs. Being the Sherriff of a small town was one thing, it was a pretty quiet job and there was rarely anything greater than a drunk Leroy to take care of, but she did not need to be chasing Mrs Holt’s schnauzer through dead forest, tripping over branches, rolling several feet down a rocky hill, over an embankment and smashing into the ground horizontally. 

Hell, even Pongo had the decency to stay in the neighbourhood if he got out. 

Her head swam for a second, along with her vision, and she blinked at the sudden nausea. 

Yes, the schnauzer would have to wait, Emma just needed to get home, crawl into bed and sleep the rest of the day away. 

Making her way back to the edge of the woodland proved harder than she would have expected as she had to stop every few minutes and lean against a tree to get her bearings and wait for the thick, pulsing rush of nearly overpowering vertigo to pass. 

She just needed to sit down. 

A large patch on her right arm between shoulder to elbow had taken the brunt of her fall, tearing through her uniform jacket and leaving gravel and dirt speckled in bloody scrapes that stung and made her eyes water as she breathed through her teeth. 

Luckily, the cruiser was where she’d left it and she sunk down into the seat with a small moan. Spots appeared behind her eyes when she closed them, leaning back against the headrest. She briefly considered just using her phone to call someone, but then she shook it off. It was a very short drive and all she wanted was to get home. 

Still wary of her inability to keep her eyes focused on any one spot, she drove slowly, peering tightly through the windscreen and clutching bruised knuckles around the wheel. At least there was some benefit to a quiet town, there was nobody on the roads or surrounding streets to notice her predicament or be put in danger if she actually did black out. 

Emma stumbled out of the car, brain thick and blinking against the beginnings of a sharp headache pushing behind her eyes. 

Sleep was the main thought running though her head, pushing out the niggling thought that she wasn’t quite right, that something about this whole situation should be taken a bit more seriously, that perhaps she should do something else. Go back to the station, let someone know where she was, perhaps get the bloody graze on her arm seen to. 

She managed to walk to the front door, but was confused when she reached into her pocket. The keys she pulled out weren’t her own. They were not the right ones, but she could not remember for the life of her whose they were, how they’d gotten in her pocket or where hers had gone. A quick check, just to make sure, confirmed that they definitely did not fit in the keyhole. 

Emma stood blinking for several seconds, leaning her head against the frame, before she shrugged. She’d sort it out later, right now she wanted to get inside. Reaching up above the doorframe, stretching high, she found the spare key she knew would be there. Bless small towns. The door opened without effort after that. 

Stepping inside, her boots echoing off the floor, caused another crippling wave of dizziness and Emma leaned against the wall. Immediately she snapped her hand back to her chest. It was different and it took her a fuzzy moment before she realized why. All the photos and portraits with her in them were gone. 

Holy crap. 

Her brain refused to cooperate, fuzzed and blurred, as she tried to remember if she had done something, something really big, something bad to warrant such a drastic action. Surely not. Her face crinkled as she looked back at the door. Had the locks actually been _changed_? She wondered what the hell had happened in the house in the few hours she’d been on duty. 

A scent caught her then, small and tantalizing, onions and meat and tomato, and with it came a familiar and welcome sound. The scrape and shuffle of a knife on a chopping board. Her luck was looking up. 

Her girlfriend was home. 

If there really was anything to this sudden onset of dizziness and nausea and inability to focus, Regina would sort it out. And quickly. All thoughts of their bed were driven out of her mind as Emma changed direction and headed to the kitchen. 

Regina stood with her back to Emma, pencil skirt teasing the back of her knees and blouse coming slightly untucked behind the ties of the apron. Emma grinned as she crept closer, coming to stand right behind her. 

“Hey Babe.” Her arms slid around the waist she knew so well as her chin rested on Regina’s right shoulder. “Lasagne, my favourite.”

Usually in this point of the exchange, Regina gave a low chuckle and responded in kind with a deep, husky voice before turning in Emma’s arms and kissing her. It was _not_ usually the point where Regina shrieked and physically threw her back. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Ms Swan?”

“Uhh…” Emma swayed on her feet, trying to find her balance and words at the same time. “Saying hello. I live here.”

“You what?”

Emma stepped backwards against the strangely hostile voice in front of her, grateful for the cupboard at her back that partly held her up. 

“Jesus, Regina!” It meant to be angry, but came out as a childish little whine. “What did I do this time? I mean, you took down the photos?”

Her head ached and she pressed her right hand up to her temporal lobe, pressing against it and trying to block out the rising pain. 

“You came into my house uninvited, Ms Swan. And then all but molested…”

But Regina’s borderline hysterical anger petered out to nothing as she no doubt had noticed the exact same thing as Emma. Her hand had come away from her head wet. 

And very, very red. 

“I think…” Emma blinked. “… I’m bleeding.”

“Sit down.” The weary annoyance was only slightly better than outright hostility. “Before you fall down. I have a first aid kit…”

“In the pantry.” Emma finished with a sigh as she edged her way to the counter and found a stool. “I know where we keep it, you know, third shelf down.”

Regina frowned before disappearing behind the door. 

“How did you know?”

But Emma was too tired and in too much pain to play whatever game Regina was playing. 

“Because I live here!” The pain in her head hit her eyes and she flinched down. “Or did you forget that when you were taking my photos off the wall?”

The look Regina gave her as she ran a clean cloth under the cool tap was one part concern and approximately eight parts annoyed disbelief. 

“You don’t live here, Ms Swan. Now hold still.”

A particularly non gentle hand pressed the damp cloth to her skull and Emma winced. 

“But I do.” It came out like a whine again. “I’ve lived here for nine years, since Henry was born.”

There was a tremulous plaintiveness to her voice now, like a small child begging Regina to just stop messing with her head and pull back the curtain. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed and not a little bit out of her depth. 

“Come on, Babe, please. Don’t get weird on me now.” Reaching up, she placed her hand over the one at her head. “This really fucking hurts and I’m too dizzy to figure out what you’re trying to do.”

But Regina was not moving, staring at Emma with an open mouth for several beats until she snapped it closed and snatched her hand back, leaving Emma’s fingers curled around the damp cloth against her head. 

“I assure you, Ms Swan, you don’t live here and you most certainly do not call me ‘Babe’!” Regina’s tongue curled with distaste over the word. “I have no idea what you were doing in the last decade of your life, but it wasn’t here.”

Emma eyed her warily, leaning on her hands with her elbows on the counter top, looking for some sign of warmth or familiarity or recognition, something to ease the growing tension in her nerves. She did not find it. 

“Whatever, I can’t…” Emma slumped forward until her head was lying on its left side on the counter. “I’m really dizzy, I’m just gonna lie down.”

The next thing she knew, Regina had both hands on her shoulders holding her upright and was shaking her gently. 

“You’ll do no such thing. You have a gaping head wound and what seems to be an alarming inability to discern reality from… from… well, whatever it is you’re talking about.”

When Emma’s head nodded forward in a roll of neck, Regina’s left hand came up and lifted her chin. 

“No, Ms Swan, you are not passing out on me, do you hear me? Wake up, I’m calling 911.”

***

Things got blurry after that. 

She could hear voices in the hall, the strange metallic sound of a gurney releasing its wheels, flashlights in her eyes, and questions. So many questions. She tried to answer them, but they bled into one another and she ended up just giving into the blue gloved hands that pressed her down onto the bed and strapped her in. 

Emma watched the ceiling of her home flick by as the wheels clicked over her front step, giving way to a harsh, bright blue sky and then the stark white of an ambulance before things went dark. 

Her eyes opened again when there was movement, sudden and harsh, and she found bright lights racing by above her, people with the hands tight on the gurney handles speaking in hurried tones about response times and lucidity and pupil dilation. 

A sharp prick of metal sliced into the crook of her arm and Emma closed her eyes again. 

***

“Emma? Emma can you hear me?”

It was Dr Whale when she opened her eyes next, harsh bright lights making her squint. He bought with him more questions, again so many questions, though this time she was able to answer him. Emma blinked in confusion, feeling dull witted and slow, but was able to discern how many fingers he was holding up, tell him who was President.

He grew concerned when she told him what day of the week it was, the month and year.

“Where’s Regina?”

And he grew even more concerned when she asked that. 

“I…” He looked down to his files. “Tell me, Emma, tell me about your relationship with Regina Mills.”

***

Small soft rhythmic beeps slid into her consciousness, repetitive and predictable. As she grew more aware, Emma kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady, listening to the soft voice that echoed through the room. It took her a moment to place it, Mary Margaret, Henry’s teacher. Practically the furthest she could get from Regina if she had tried. 

“How can you be so cruel?”

If she stayed quiet and still, didn’t move, and really concentrated, she could just hear the small voice on the other side of the door, could make out the familiar cadence and clipped tones. 

“I hardly think it’s cruel, Ms Blanchard.”

She’d know that voice anywhere. Had lived with it, spent hours coaxing it thick and husky out of Regina’s throat, had teased it, laughed with it, argued with it. But this, this short and curt clipped tone coming hushed through the room was a Regina she hadn’t seen in a long time. 

Not since she had first arrived in town so long ago. 

“She’s asking for you.” Mary Margaret hissed like an accusation. “The least you could do is stay and talk to her.”

Mary Margaret. Emma had no real idea why she would be here at all. Out of everyone in town, why this woman would be the one sitting by her bedside and trying to convince Regina to stay on her behalf was beyond her. 

“The least I could do is go home and finish cleaning that woman’s blood from my kitchen before my son gets there and needs even more therapy than he is currently receiving.” Came the hissed words. “I had enough trouble reorganizing his appointment to coincide with the end of his school day, now if you don’t mind I don’t have much time left.”

The frustrated sigh was as annoyed as Emma ever remembered hearing from the timid school teacher. 

“It wouldn’t hurt you to talk to her for five minutes.”

“I hardly see why I should be responsible for a delusional break in reality caused by a concussion that woman received falling off a fifteen foot ledge that makes her believe we’re in a relationship!”

The words cut almost as much as the tone and Emma barely resisted holding back the flinch. Regina’s voice was brittle and strange, but she could hear the condescension and revulsion in Regina as clear as if the woman had been right next to her. 

Behind her lids, she tried not to see the woman she’d lived with for nine years. 

The woman that loved her. 

“Look, Ms Blanchard.” The awkward silence was broken by a calmer Regina, the political savvy back in full force. “Obviously she’s been affected by what happened, but I do not particularly see that pandering to her false delusion is any way going to aide in her recovery. What she needs right now is people around her, like yourself, who she would actually want should she remember who she is and what her life is like.”

After a beat, Mary Margaret sighed. 

“Thank you anyway, I guess, Madam Mayor.”

Emma kept her eyes closed and hoped her breathing had stayed as regular as she thought it had. After a moment, she felt a shift in the air next to her and the feel of a feather light touch of a finger on her forehead, just below the edge of the bandage. 

“Oh, Emma.”

***

_Two am was a magical time, everything bathed in dark, inky hues and silence. A time when she could believe she was the only one alive, or nearly. Her eyes swept briefly over the walls, the pristine yellow paint and bright giraffes and elephants and lions. Gender neutral, Regina had insisted after reading a dozen parenting books, and Emma was the last person in any kind of position to argue._

_She rocked slightly in the chair, a low hum in the back of her throat as she couldn’t resist looking down again._

_A baby, soft and small and wrinkled, his wizened little face smoothed out in near sleep, fluttering eyelids and one tiny little hand peeking out of the wrap as it batted lazily against the bottle she held up to his mouth. She bit her lip and tried not to think the words, but they came anyway, her baby, the squirming kicking little bundle she had carried and almost lost in prison._

_She watched his puckered little mouth suck at the teat of the bottle and wondered, idly, if it felt the same as the electronic breast pump that milked her every few hours. It ached, then, in a harsh visceral way that hit her nipples._

_Against all common sense, she leaned her head down and kissed to top of his tiny, warm little brow._

_“You’re good with him.”_

_The voice came soft, whisper quiet into the room and Emma froze stock still, breath caught guiltily in her lungs. A second later she looked up to see Regina leaning against the doorframe, tired and sleepy head against the wood._

_“I… I…” The words stuck in her throat, weighed down by the heavy, harsh voice of her parole officer, the warnings she’d been given, the threats. Her arms locked under the small bundle and she began to shift in the chair, the precursor to getting up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t…”_

_The movement was enough for the bundle to open his eyes, blinking wearily at the change in his routine._

_Confusion swam on the older woman’s face, but Emma only heard the silence, taking it for instant disproval._

_“I thought you could sleep, you know?” Quiet and whispered, the plea sounded desperate to her ears. Because it was. “I thought, maybe, if I did it once, just changed and fed him once, you could sleep. But I wasn’t… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”_

_She could feel the tears come up, hiding behind her eyes, and hated herself for this weakness._

_“Here.” A shrug of her shoulders gave away her meaning. “Take him, I’ll… I’ll go. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”_

_The baby was taken gently from her arms with a small whimper of protest at the drastic change after being so close to sleep. For her part, Emma breathed easier when he was gone and she shook her limbs free of the strange, eerie ache of his missing weight._

_“I don’t mind.” Regina’s voice stopped her and she dared to look up, to meet the dark eyes that watched her. “Honestly. I was just saying that you’re good with him.”_

_Unable to stop herself, Emma reached up again, to trail a soft finger across the muted yellow blanket in the woman’s arms._

_“He’s beautiful, Ms Mills.” She whispered. “You’re so lucky.”_

_She was almost out the door, free, when the voice called her back again. Soft, vulnerable in a way she had not heard come from Regina yet._

_“Why did you want to give him up?”_

_And Emma closed her eyes. She should lie, she knew this, she should make up some story to quell the obvious fear that would grow in Regina Mills should she say the words, but it was late at night, her brain was baby fuzzed, she was sleep deprived, her body was slack and lazed and unused to living in such strange, unknown safety._

_“I didn’t.” Her eyes opened to meet dark ones. “I still don’t.”_

_Her fingers clutched the wood of the doorframe and she looked at the woman in front of her, cradling her son, her dark hair falling in a straight line down to the sides of her face as she leaned her head over the baby. A mother, a natural maternal being._

_The complete switch from moments before was not lost on her._

_“Don’t get me wrong, Ms Mills, he’s your son, I know that. I…” A breath in, Emma tried to sort the words out in her head. “I don’t have anything, I don’t even have a car, let alone a bed, I don’t know how to stay in one place. Sometimes I don’t know if I’ll have food one day to the next. That’s not going to change because I’m here for a few months. When I leave it’s going to be the same. “_

_Brown eyes watched her and she ducked her head, not wanting to see the pity or, worse, disgust._

_“That’s no life for a kid. I didn’t finish High School, I’m not smart. But I know that.” Her hand gestured in the empty air in front of her, towards the nursery, the matching gleaming wooden furniture, the soft yellow walls, the thick fluffy quilts, the pristine stuffed toys and decorative ornaments. “You, you have everything, you know everything, you can give him what I can’t, teach him to be smart. You’re his mom.”_

_She was almost completely out the door when Regina spoke again._

_“I truly don’t mind, Ms Swan.” And, after a pause. “You can help me with him, sometimes, if you want.”_

 

***

“Emma?” It was Mary Margaret in her hospital room again when she woke next. “How are you feeling?”

Every time she woke up things became more surreal. 

Emma looked around the room, the thin sheet and blanket that covered her, the stark whiteness of it, the alien feel of a thick bandage around her head, her mouth dry and sticky at the same time. And Mary Margaret sitting on the lone visitor chair, looking worried. 

“Uh…” She tried to sit up, adjust herself to a more comfortable position. “I would say pretty crap.”

There was a brightness to the room that had not been there the last few times she had drifted up into consciousness and she wasn’t sure if it was because it was daytime again or if she was more alert than she had been previous. 

Her head ached, a dull constant throb under the heavy bandage that sloped to the right of her skull. Cautiously, she lifted her hand to feel around, prodding gently at the gauze. It felt huge from the inside and she had imagined it more like a space helmet, but in reality it was nowhere near that big. 

She looked at this woman, petite and thin and nervous, watching her with wide worried eyes. There was nobody else in her room and, from what she could gather, nobody in the hallway nearby. Not one other person. 

“Henry’s really worried, but I’ve told him you’re okay and maybe when you’re feeling up to it he can visit.”

Emma blinked again and swallowed, trying to remember what Dr Whale had said. 

“Henry.” The name caught on her tongue, stuck in her throat. “He lives… with Regina?”

Mary Margaret nodded.

“But I don’t?”

Mary Margaret frowned and shook her head. 

Emma tilted her head to look at the ceiling, swallowed back the bright hot tear that threatened to escape. If she closed her eyes she could see it, feel it, smell it, her life in this town around these people, in that house. Nine years. 

But it wasn’t, they’d said. It had been ten years since Henry’s birth and she had only spent four months of them in this town. She was missing a year. 

Most certainly she was not in a serious relationship with Regina Mills. She was, in fact, in the complete opposite to a devoted, loving relationship with Regina Mills. 

And she had never watched Henry grow.

“Where is she?” But their words meant nothing, small and useless in the face of her confusion, her need. “I want to see her.”

Mary Margaret could only shake her head again. 

***

Regina sat at the desk in her study trying to focus on the paper work in front of her, unable to stop her eyes glazing over as her mind wandered. 

She was broken out of her reverie by the shrill ringing of the telephone. 

Not her mobile, the landline on her desk. She eyed it warily. Nobody would call her this late, surely, not without good reason. And there was absolutely nothing pressing happening in Storybrooke at the moment except…

Her fingers wrapped around the receiver reluctantly and she breathed in before bringing it to her ear. 

“Hello?”

“Regina?”

The voice on the other end was small and timid and it made her close her eyes in frustration. 

“Ms Swan.” She counted to five in her head. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping right now? I’m fairly sure the hospital has a strict schedule it adheres to for its patients.”

It was not fair, not fair in the slightest that she should be bombarded with the image of the blonde bleeding in her arms as she slumped, minutes too long before the ambulance arrived. 

“I know.” This was not the voice of the combative woman that Henry had found in Boston, the one who came and barrelled forth with no hesitation, who challenged her on every little thing. “I know you hate me, I know I’m seeing things, I know. We don’t get along. But please, please… just once, Regina, can you not be mean right now?”

Her fingers tightened against the plastic in her hand. 

“I’m scared.”

And Regina sighed, unable to form the necessary words. 

“Isn’t that what Ms Blanchard is for?” She said instead. “She is your roommate, after all.”

“I sent her home.”

The nerve in her forehead began to twitch. She should just hang up, really. Of all the stupid, brainless…

“Rather foolish of you, don’t you…?”

“Please?” There it was again. Alien and unwanted. Because in any form, in any situation, the thing that Emma Swan did not do was beg. “I know it’s not real, they keep telling me, but… I just needed to talk to you. Can you just help me right now?”

Another, much slower, count to five in her head. 

“And what can I possibly do for you, Ms Swan?”

“They’re sending me to Boston for tests. They think there’s something wrong with my brain.” 

Her voice was too small, too timid to be Emma Swan, but it was. And Regina felt her head rest against the hand not holding the phone. She didn’t say that there was no way the tests would be done. No way that anyone would be leaving Storybrooke, let alone getting to Boston, that something would happen before now and the time Emma had to leave to prevent it. Hopefully her rightful memory would be restored. 

In the silence of her non answer, Emma continued. 

“What if something’s wrong? I’m really scared, Regina.”

She was, too, Regina could hear the high pitched crack in her voice and she sighed. 

“I’ll call your doctors and tell them to increase your sleep medication. That should get you a good night’s sleep, Ms Swan.”

“Oh.” The disappointment was thick and unmistakable. “Oh, uh… thanks, Regina. I guess. I’m sorry.”

Regina replaced the receiver gently, taking a deep breath in and holding it for a count of ten before releasing it in one long exhale.

***

Her heels clicked on the linoleum floor in precise, crisp staccato beats. 

At this hour of the night the staff was down to bare minimum and she knew their schedule well enough to know that the midnight checks had been completed and there was at least another hour before the next one. If anyone looked her way or found her presence in the hospital in the middle of the night strange at all, they didn’t say anything and nobody questioned her. 

In fact, Regina found it entirely too easy to make her way to the nurses’ station, pick up the file she wanted, and flick through it. It had taken her nearly half an hour on the phone to convince Dr Whale to authorize any form of sleeping agent at all. 

The man had kept blathering on about benzodiazepines and the adverse effect of atypical gamma-amino-whatever brain chemical in the cognitive repair of patients suffering traumatic brain injury until Regina had seriously considered cutting his internet access, because she knew damn well she hadn’t given him _that_ detailed knowledge in the curse. 

Eventually he had agreed to start Ms Swan on a course of anti-depressants, a mild hypnotic that worked as a sleeping aide around the usual brain neurons that would otherwise be affected. As if she cared about the reasoning so much as the results, she was no neurologist. 

He might have prescribed marijuana laced grape popsicles for all she cared, as long as it meant Ms Swan would at least be asleep. 

The room was almost silent as she slipped inside the door, taking a moment to orient herself to the near darkness. She had no point of reference to compare, but this hospital at least was never really dark, not even in the middle of the night. Soft, muted lights from the nurses’ station lit up like little orange islands in the hallway, the soft blue of night time lighting that lit just enough to be visible, and the occasional life-saving or monitory machine all conspired to leave a never ending hum of light.

The monitors Emma was hooked up to, their wires curling down to her wrists and inside her gown, most likely stuck to conductor panels on her chest, gave small, rhythmic pulses. A surprisingly reassuring sound as her eyes lighted over the green and red numbers lit up next to the wavy lines that meant little to her. 

At last she looked down at the sleeping figure and felt a stab of relief to note the bandage that covered the right side of her head held back the long curls. She had not realised until this moment that she’d even worried about this, that she would even notice had they had to shave her head. 

Knowing that Emma was asleep, would likely stay asleep with the trazadone pumping through her system, Regina reached out and touched the left side of Emma’s head, the relatively unscathed portion. Soft, sleek hair met her fingertips and she pushed it in just a little, felt the slight resistance but let go before she met scalp. 

All the things she had ever thought of this woman, all the descriptions good or bad that had ever passed through her brain or past her lips, the word _small_ had never been one of them. But right then, lying flat on her back with a bandaged head, body covered by a thin, thread bare blanket, that’s exactly what Ms Swan was. 

Small and fragile. 

“You fool.” Regina whispered as she looked around for the visitor’s chair. “You’re going to ruin everything.”

Sitting down, tucking her ankles in under her, Regina had to clasp her hands around the ends of each arm of the chair to stop herself reaching up for the chain that was no longer there. The ring that was no longer around her neck and would never be there again. 

Daniel’s ring. 

“Trust you to fall and hit your head so hard you actually negate my magic.”

Regina had endured many things in her life, things she had pushed so far down she could not even begin to remember them if she tried. It was hard now, harder than she had originally realised it would be, to bear Emma’s dislike of her, but she would rather a false, implanted aversion to the true hate that had been in her eyes just after Henry’s ninth birthday.

That domino that had started, and nearly ended, it all. 

One slight change to the curse, one small amendment, and Emma had been given a new life free of Storybrooke and clear of Regina. She hadn’t known Henry would find Emma on his own and bring her back, hadn’t known how hard it would be to look into those eyes and see no recognition, how difficult not to fall back into those arms. 

“You can’t remember, Emma.” She pleaded to the sleeping woman. “For your own sake most of all.” 

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So why would you make up something like that?” He was relentless, hungry, thirsty for knowledge, regardless of the cost, he always had been. “Why would your brain make you think you liked each other?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing** : Depending on which character you ask, but... Emma/Regina.  
>  **Rating** : I think this is the mildest rating in one of my fics in a long, long time. PG. Maybe. We'll see.  
>  **Timeline/Spoilers/Setting:** Set in Storybrooke, pre-curse break, approximately mid season one. I would hazard a guess somewhere around True North.  
>  **Disclaimer** : yeah, they're not mine. They've never been mine. They're unlikely to ever be mine. I wouldn't argue, but it's not happening. Anybody out there think differently? Didn't think so.

***

Emma frowned as she looked out the car window.

Mary Margaret hummed her demand that Emma sit still as she got out of the driver’s seat and practically ran around to the passenger side before she opened the door. Emma sighed as she released the belt and took a careful, cautious step out to the curb. 

She had moved gingerly every step outside the hospital, watching the world pass by with wide eyes. It was like walking through a dream: everything was familiar, but never quite the same as in her head. Different by only a fraction of one miniscule iota that she could not define. 

The grass was green, the sky was blue, Granny’s diner had the ever present open sandwich board outside. Ruby had come to visit her in the hospital after she had asked Mary Margaret if they were still friends in this life. Mary Margaret had visited her every day. 

But it was not the same. 

It was absurdly obvious that she was not riding home in a Benz, being welcomed by an eager son and a loving partner. She was not headed to the stately home on Mifflin Street. 

“Come on.” Mary Margaret said softly, as if understanding her hesitance. “There’s a surprise waiting for you inside.”

Inside. Inside Mary Margaret’s apartment. Her apparent home for the past few months. Where she had just –only recently- run for Sheriff, as if she didn’t remember being Sheriff for the last three years and a deputy for four before that. As if she didn’t know this entire town in and out. 

But she didn’t, not really. 

Ruby had come to visit and she and Mary Margaret had spoken in soft tones, sharing pointed looks over Emma’s head and making worried expressions as if she were a child. Mary Margaret’s friend, David Nolan, had come to visit and Emma had looked at him strangely. 

Regina’s friend, Kathryn, had apparently found and lost her missing husband in the last few months, everyone knew of the story – how they had argued and he’d left town, but now the truth had come out. The truth, which was now mooning over Mary Margaret and sending her puppy dog eyes when she wasn’t looking. 

Brain damaged or not, Emma was not blind. 

“Ok.”

Everybody acted as if she was about to break at any given moment, as if she was made of fine china. 

Dr Whale had, miraculously, declared her fit to leave the hospital, declared her well enough to forgo the extensive testing they had claimed she’d needed. The swelling had gone down and the brain wave activity was within normal parameters. There was no real call for invasive intra cranial imaging, he claimed, unless she suffered some unlikely serious set back. Everyone expected her memories to come back over time, it was normal for this sort of injury.

Emma was not so sure. 

Her memories, those pretty little visions in her head were still incredibly real, more real than the apparent truth. She was having trouble accepting everything she was told. Each little fact came to her sounding even more and more absurd. She had spent the last few years travelling the Eastern side of the US, never staying in one spot long, becoming a bounty hunter. 

It sounded lonely and she wasn’t sure she preferred that truth to the comfortable, easy delusions in her head. 

Everybody kept telling her that her brain was making it up and an entire town could not be wrong. If she was the only person out of thousands who saw something, then surely she was the one with the mistaken ideas. 

It just… she couldn’t distinguish between the two. 

She allowed Mary Margaret’s attentions, leading her by the elbow up the path and into the building, up to her door where Emma finally hesitated. 

This was it. Once she passed through this door and saw the actual physical proof that this was her home, her belongings in a different room, there was no going back, no denying that her life was here. 

“Emma!” The door was barely open before she was barrelled over by a familiar sight and sound. “Emma, you’re home!”

Her heart froze, her limbs solidifying as she clung to the doorknob. The knuckles of her fingernails blanched of all colour as she clung, holding herself up. It was Henry, her Henry, her little boy. She had to bite her lip to hide it, the struggle not to cry in front of him as she lifted her face and looked up to catch her breath and his thin little arms circled her waist. 

Brightly coloured paper decorated the ceiling with streamers and a balloon or two, loudly declaring her welcome home. The home she didn’t remember. 

They hadn’t told her. Of everything, of every cruel detail they had sat and explained to her about her real life as they knew it, this was something that had neglected to mention. The one thing that cut her worse than any other. 

“You… you…” The tear fell down and she couldn’t help it, face closing in on herself. “You call me Emma?”

***

Convincing Mary Margaret to leave her alone in the kitchen took most of the first hour. Searching the cupboards for the right ingredients or substitutes thereof and convincing Henry to stop laughing took the rest. 

“I can cook.” She protested over the chopping board, not entirely sure whether to be offended or not. “And you lo…” 

Emma looked down again, her fingers tightening on the handle of the blade. She did not think she would ever get used to this life. 

“Well. In my head you love this.” She shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. “Maybe you really will, you never know.”

He was older, Henry, such a noticeable shift from nine to ten and a half. She wanted to grab him and pull him in, run her hands over his shoulders, his arms, through his hair, trace every single line of his face, measure him from heel to the top of his head, peel back the neck of his shirt and check the size of his clothes. 

But that was unwelcome, that level of mothering. This child was a strange, alien distant and yet eager acquaintance that had come into her life mere months ago.

“Emma?” He spoke reluctantly as he sat on the stool and watched her work, hesitant to voice the two syllables that had caused so much trouble before. “What do I call you… in your head?”

A smile teased the corners of her mouth and she looked over to see him watching her with interest. Missing from his expression was something she had gotten used to in the last five days, the downturn of the mouth and widening of eyes, the same expression that had graced every single visitor, doctor or nurse that had come into her room. 

He did not pity her. He was not trying to wash over everything in her head. 

He honestly wanted to know. 

“Ma.” She said it softly, aware only slightly too late of the hunger in his eyes. “It started off as Mama when you were really little. I tried to get you to call me Emma so many times when you were learning to talk.”

This time she could not stop the smile, already lost in the memory. 

“I had a job that took me out of town a lot. When I came back we’d have these little stubborn stand-offs and I’d insist on Emma and you’d keep calling me Mama. I was so scared your Mom would be mad.” Emma sighed and bit down on the big grin. “It took me two months to catch on to the fact that she was encouraging you when I wasn’t there.”

The surprise and disbelief on his face was unmistakable and Emma reached over without thinking, sliding her hand down his shoulder and over his arm, coming down to cover his hand with hers. This tactile dependency, the need to touch him, was apparently not a part of her. The real her. 

She couldn’t help it.

“She loves you, you know.” Her confusion doubled. “Doesn’t matter which reality, I know that. I don’t understand why you resent her so much.”

At this, Henry did pull away, sneaking a quick look behind him to Mary Margaret’s closed door. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” It came out like a whisper, a guilty little secret between them. “I’ve been told not to overwhelm you. Maybe when you remember.”

Emma’s fingers curled into themselves and she withdrew her hand, suddenly feeling the distance between them anew. Quickly sautéed vegetables and the addition of a few gentle spices took her energy and she used the time to catch her breath. 

He was not a good liar, he never had been, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that this was one thing he would not back down from. With this reasoning, he really was worried about her, worried that what he might say could very well push her over some imaginary ledge. 

She could be close to him again, closer than this current limbo of wanting to be close but not quite there yet, as close as she imagined in her head. As close as her brain said they could be. 

“Here.” Something she could not understand, would never understand, was how a movement could be familiar and habitual if she had not physically done it, how a non-existent sense memory could suddenly appear, but it didn’t stop her plating the stir-fry and sliding the dish across the counter as if she’d done it hundreds of times before. “Eat it and see. You might be surprised.”

His reluctance was amusing and she wondered if a person could suddenly imagine a whole new skill set. 

Apparently she didn’t cook here, either. 

He ate the first piece of carrot gingerly and then the slice of capsicum with more confidence, the rest followed more eagerly and something deep in her felt sated. A small primal need to nurture. 

“It tastes…” His nose screwed up in concentration. “… different.”

And she nodded. 

“Cinnamon, among several other things. Don’t tell your mom.”

He nodded, as if this was an expected and perfectly acceptable request as he kept eating. 

Logically, the Regina in her brain had to be made up from fragments of truth she knew, had stumbled across in this reality and woven together into something else. Emma knew that this Regina, or any Regina in any form, would have brought Henry up on nothing other than wholesome food. But she had, or at least remembered having, a few tricks up her sleeve that the other woman didn’t. 

A small pang of regret stabbed her.

“She hates you, you know.” Henry piped up, interrupting her thought process. “Ever since you came to town.”

Emma sighed. 

“Yeah, everyone keeps telling me.”

“You don’t like her, either.” His nose screwed up again as his fork began to push the remainder of vegetables around his plate. “You guys fight a lot. All the time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you together when you weren’t fighting.”

She blinked, keeping her eyes closed a moment longer than necessary, and wondered how to get him to stop talking without actually saying the words. 

“So why would you make up something like that?” He was relentless, hungry, thirsty for knowledge, regardless of the cost, he always had been. “Why would your brain make you think you liked each other?”

Emma had lost her appetite without ever taking a bite. 

“I wish I knew, kid, I wish I knew.”

***

Stress had left her buzzing and awkward, nerves strung out to the point of peevishness when dealing with other people.

Regina had no choice but to take a moment away from everything, just to herself, standing out by her tree. The leaves were lush and full and she reached up, taking one between the fingers of her right hand and letting the tips of her fingers brush against the rough surface. The harder she squeezed, the damper the leaf got, a small pool of moisture between her fingers. 

She let it go. 

She had stayed away, of course she had stayed away since that night at the hospital when she had let her guard down. It had been difficult enough in the past twelve months, pretending through another set of memories until they had become second nature. 

Nobody, absolutely nobody understood the level and intricacies it took to have two different lives in your head, let alone three. 

Her fingers wrapped around a sturdy branch and she let that take her weight, letting her shoulders and spine drop into a sag for just a moment as she buried her face in the crook of her elbow. Everything was a balancing act, each and every action of every day, every spoken word, a headache she had not signed up for. 

Yet another godforsaken mess she had created. 

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions and she could not even claim that half her intentions in the last world were good. But this one… this world… this little town she had created and cultivated and nurtured, nobody could question her motives here. 

Well, except one. 

It came back to her, finally allowed after months of blocking it out, the way Emma had looked at her, barely able to breathe, that alien confused, horrified and _scared_ look as she’d begged Regina to deny it, to have some logical explanation. 

_”Emma, no, please!” Her voice was thick with tears, already rasping against the thousand apologies that had done nothing. “Don’t take my family away, please!”_

_“We are not your family!” And the hissing, the absolute venom behind it struck her to the core. “We are just your beard! All these years and… Was any of it real? The way you must have laughed behind our backs… I can’t even… oh, I think I’m going to be sick.”_

No, Emma was not allowed to remember.

It was not just the anger and the recriminations, those she could handle, those she had handled a lifetime ago. It wasn’t even the threat of Emma taking Henry, though that had hurt worse than Regina could have ever imagined. The real damage had come afterwards. 

The most effective way to prevent Emma discovering the truth again, prevent her from being tainted by Regina and the darkness she had always brought with her, was to take her out of the equation. An Emma Swan that never came to Storybrooke, that never lived with her, that never loved her… _that_ Emma Swan had a chance to be happy. To live unfettered and free and ignorant. 

She had not been able to predict the rippling effects of this major change and after the dust had settled, Regina had to learn to live in a world not only devoid of Emma, but also the love of her son. _All_ magic comes with a price, after all. 

Daniel’s ring was gone, lost to the last spell she would ever cast, and if she could undo what she had done in panic she would. But Regina, like the rest of the town, was stuck in this reality. 

Emma could not remember and as much as she wanted to, Regina could not allow Emma to worm her way back into her life. The closer Emma got, surely, the higher the danger of history repeating. It was that, a mantra that had become familiar to her over the last four months, repeating it to herself over and over again, that kept Regina as hostile as she knew to be. 

A combative Emma Swan was less danger to herself, to Regina and Henry and the entire town’s existence, than a lovesick one. 

She had underestimated the kick to her gut that came with seeing Emma walk up the path to her door, following behind Henry, the two of them together as if Regina had never erased the woman from their lives. The temptation that night, having Emma so close after so many months apart, was almost too much to bear. 

Almost. 

“Regina?”

Lost in her reverie, Regina didn’t even bother opening her eyes as her face slackened into a smile. 

“Emma.” A second later had her jerking upright, taking her weight up from the dangling arm and straightening her spine as she turned to see the cause of her undoing walking towards her. A quick shake of her head threw off the last vestiges of memory and warmth. “I do hope you have a good excuse for trespassing on private property.”

She had to blink, looking at Emma’s stride across the yard. 

Gone was the most recent, abrasive version of Emma Swan. She was a mixture of that and her memory Emma, that casual, happy woman who belonged. No, this was a timid creature who felt unwelcome but ventured anyway. She was, Regina suddenly realised, the Emma she had first met over a decade ago. 

***

_He was so miniscule, so incredibly precious, this little wrinkled, wizened creature in her arms. Regina had no eyes for anyone else and barely listened to the woman as she droned on. The last three weeks had been the most nerve wracking she had ever remembered experiencing in her entire life and that included magical warfare and near assassination._

_“His name is Henry.” She whispered, reverent in a way she had never been before, unable to take her eyes off the tiny fingers that wrapped around the larger one she pushed into them. “Henry Mills.”_

_To her left, just outside her field of vision, the woman huffed and Regina didn’t even bother to control or hide her eye roll._

_The moment she had been notified that a baby had been found, she had felt a growing, excited fluttering in her middle, a child about to be born to a mother that didn’t want it. The joy had turned to dread the moment she had gotten the telephone call in the middle of the night four weeks too early, 3:47am she remembered exactly, would never forget the sight of the little green numbers burning their way into her memory from the alarm clock on her bedside table._

_Gastroschisis, the deep, disembodied voice had said. Foetal distress. Complications._

_The next three weeks had been a blur of worry and doubt and horror as she had done as much research as she possibly could on the subject, scaring herself with the worst possible scenarios that the internet allowed. Things that went further than the sudden infant death syndrome she had already scared herself with._

_Henry, the tiny perfect child that now breathed content in her arms, had been born with part of his abdominal cavity on the outside of his body. A defect not picked up on any ultrasound because the mother had been incarcerated during the majority of her pregnancy. Surgery less than an hour after his birth had proved to be simple, realigning the organs in one smooth operation. A much better outcome than the multiple surgeries that some children faced._

_His recovery had been swift after that, Regina had called for hourly updates, gaining weight and taking feeds sooner than expected, healing well after the trauma of his birth. The doctors predicted no lingering side effects once the child recovered from the initial surgery. The only complication had been that his trauma ridden gastrointestinal system had been unable to digest or absorb anything artificial, nothing worked other than the original mother’s milk. It was designed by nature, they’d said in unnecessarily apologetic tones, biologically suited to the exact needs of the infant._

_Regina had been faced with a daunting, but ultimately simple choice. Campaign for early release of the mother into her care as the Mayor of a small town, opening up her house for the several possible months it took for her son to properly heal. Or allow the child to linger in a harsh, clinical environment for months only to be tossed to a system designed to crush him._

_“Where is she?” She finally asked, completely unaware and uncaring of whatever conversation the social worker had been trying to engage her in. “Where is the mother?”_

_The woman whose name Regina had not been bothered remembering and would most certainly not go to any efforts to do so afterwards made a tsk sound under her tongue._

_“Never you fear, Dear. I’m sure they’ll bring her around soon enough. Why don’t you get that precious little man sorted and squared away before they get here? Then you can show her to her room and not mix the two.”_

_What sort of woman, Regina had wondered, was so casually disinterested in her own child that she would sign a paper to be completely rid of him? How could anyone know the troubles this little boy had endured and not feel for him?_

_Her answer came barely an hour later, with precious little Henry asleep in the ornate bassinette she had ordered to suit the cot and change table, intricate patterns carved into the woodwork that matched the motif on the wall of the nursery. His sparse, clinical belongings that had come with him abandoned to the lush baby wraps and soft muted clothes._

_Not a woman, but a scared, defensive girl barely out of her teens that stayed one step behind the parole officer that bought her, wide eyes flicking nervously between her and Regina. Her face held a permanently wary expression, like she expected to be yelled at for no reason whatsoever._

_A brief, unwanted flicker of understanding licked at her brain._

_“She’ll behave.” Muttered the stern faced parole officer as they signed the forms. “Or you call me and I’ll sort her out.”_

_It sounded too much like a threat for Regina to be able to produce much more than a polite line of near smile across her face._

_“Nothin’ but trouble, that one.” Leaning in close, the woman had the repulsive privilege of yellowed teeth and ash soaked breath that made Regina’s nostrils twitch. “Word of advice? Don’t give her an inch, she’ll not only take a mile, she’ll run you right over to get it.”_

_Regina looked across the room to the awkward woman standing just inside the doorway, hunched shoulders and lowered eyes not meeting hers, the way she bit her lip and her left foot tapped slightly._

_If there was one thing she prided herself on it was being able to read people, magic or not she had relied on some inner sense that usually told her whether her companions could be trusted or would make better trophy pieces in her heart wall._

_From this little waif trying to melt into the wall, Regina sensed no malice at all._

***

Emma had walked Henry home. 

A simple activity, it was not a particularly stressful or long walk. Surely she could manage that amount of movement after being cooped up all week. She certainly felt less dizzy. It no longer felt that the world spun around and she would faint if she didn’t sit down every five minutes. 

Exercise was good, they’d encouraged cheerily before she’d been dismissed, get out there. 

They had chatted all day and Emma was grateful that she’d been released on a Saturday, able to spend that time with him. It had only occurred to her after several hours that in this reality not only did she have no rights to squirrel him away for an entire day, but that she would be most unwelcome to do so. Henry’s guilty duck of the head had told her more than his quick dismissal. 

His entire demeanour had changed the second they had turned into the little pathway between the hedges, as if the hedges themselves were the gateway to a different world. One little half hug with an arm around her waist later and he had slipped away, walking quietly upstairs with his oversized backpack over his shoulder. A sudden urge to call up after him came over her, to remind him to wear it on both shoulders to protect his spine, but she didn’t. 

Yet another thing that was not her job in reality. 

She possibly had an ulterior motive in convincing everyone to let her walk here and having some excuse, any excuse, just to see Regina was only a small misdemeanour. Even if they hated each other, surely they still spoke about Henry. By the time she had checked the downstairs study, given the stairs a quick side eye, she had reluctantly gone to the back door. 

Emma had almost hoped not to find Regina at the tree. She knew it was not the season for trimming and, even if it was, this was certainly not Regina’s preferred time for tending her beloved apple tree. Which left only one option: Regina was in turmoil. 

And Emma suspected she was the cause. 

“I walked Henry home.” With a shrug of her shoulders and a small smile, Emma felt overly awkward. “I wanted to talk.”

Irritation flared briefly in Regina’s dark eyes and Emma rushed to continue. 

“I wanted to say sorry, you know. For… the call and coming into your house that day.” Even before Regina’s face softened slightly and she could see the quick dismissive denial building, Emma completely lost track of what she was trying to say. “Holy crap, Regina! What happened to your tree?”

It was blessedly few steps until she could barrel past the woman and reach up to run her right hand across the painfully blank hole where a limb should be. The ultimate offense. 

But Regina merely raised an eyebrow. 

“That was you, Ms Swan.” Bright red lips curved up into a smile at Emma’s shock. “With a chainsaw.”

Emma’s mouth fell open and she turned back to the tree, away from the woman next to her. Had she done that? Had she really taken a chainsaw to one of Regina’s favourite possessions? That was more than just dislike, that was needlessly cruel. Regina had cultivated that tree from childhood, it was her lodestone, she practically worshipped it and the fruit that came from it. 

Her finger lightly traced the obscenely naked, pale wood. 

“Oh god, Regina, I’m sorry for that, too! That’s awful!”

Short of slapping Henry, there was nothing more a person could have done to offend Regina. 

Unforgivable. 

No wonder the woman hated her like everyone said. 

“To be fair, Dear.” Regina’s voice warmed just slightly with amusement. “I had just gotten you arrested.”

Emma closed her eyes then, looking down. Unwanted, decade old images plagued her. Painful, hidden memories she had not allowed herself to think about. At least, she didn’t imagine she had, not in her fake memories she hadn’t. 

It seemed they both aimed with precision accuracy and cruelty. 

“So it’s really true?” It came out soft, almost a whisper. “We really do hate each other?”

Both her hands lay flat on the large trunk in front of her and she had to lean forward, let the wood take her weight when she feared she would fall on the spot. 

Passing out in front of this woman yet again was probably not the best idea. 

“Emma?” A cautious hand on the back of her left shoulder made her flinch. It was too much, too soon, having heard and had confirmed the truth. But feeling it, feeling the difference with which that hand touched her as if it had never done so before, made Emma crumble inside. “Are you feeling quite alright? Do you want me to call Ms Blanchard?”

She turned, ducking her shoulder away before looking up. Suddenly she wanted out, wanted away from this alien woman who wasn’t her Regina. 

But that was just it. She wasn’t the Regina in Emma’s head, so there was no way she would respond the way Emma kept expecting her to. But that didn’t mean things couldn’t change. Maybe that was what her brain was trying to tell her. 

“I know things are difficult at best between us.” She paused, trying to organise the words in her head. “But can we start again? Like, just completely start again? Forget that we hate each other? Or that I remember something completely different to what happened? Can we just be friends?”

It was a torturous three minutes of silence and just when she thought she saw the sparkle of excitement in the other woman’s eye, the challenge of a favourable idea, the beginnings of possible want, it disappeared and was replaced with a neutral expression. The shake of Regina’s head hurt her all over again. 

“I’m afraid I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ms Swan.”

She bit her lip and tried her hardest not to sound like she was whining. 

“But why?”

This time it was Regina that looked down, reluctance and distaste evident on her face. 

“Because you will get your memories back. You will remember exactly why you dislike me and you will resent me for trying to change that, perhaps even accuse me of trying to manipulate you. It’s not something I relish thinking about.”

Even as Emma began to shake her head, Regina continued. 

“Perhaps if and when you do get your memories back, we can have this discussion again. I don’t believe you will think the same at that point, but at least we’ll be on a level playing field.”

Frustration boiled up and out, pouring thickly before she could even think to stop it. 

“No, Regina. No. I don’t accept that. Maybe I’m crazy and maybe I imagined this entire thing out of some desire to be happy and in a family and whatever. But I don’t accept that we’re stuck hating each other if we don’t want to.”

Shock turned quickly to dark amusement as a smirk twisted Regina’s lips. 

“Maybe I do want to. Did you think of that?”

“You know what everyone keeps telling me?” She challenged back. “What a bitch you are. But I don’t believe it. I don’t think you’re half as bad as you want people to think you are. And no matter how hard you try to push me away, Regina, I am going to be your friend.”

This time, the expression on Regina’s face stayed there. Worry. 

“I don’t…”

Emma stepped forward and got right in her space, at once aware of her memories and exactly how different this really was. They were only inches away and she could see the short, shallow breathing of Regina, echoed in the flaring of her nostrils. 

“You might not know it, because it never really happened, but it’s real to me.” She pushed her hand out, poking her finger straight against the middle of Regina’s breastbone. “You helped me when I was in a really bad place and I can’t just forget that. It might not be real, but I do believe that person is in you. And I’ll find her.”

It was a whispered threat, a promise, and Regina stepped back, mouth slightly open. Emma gave a small, sarcastic little curtsy, before grinning. 

“I am going to be the best friend you’ve ever had, Regina, whether you like it or not.”

***

_After only a week, Emma felt confident enough to creep down the stairs in the dark._

_Ms Mills had told her it was perfectly fine if she needed, but she still felt strange wandering around the house. As if she would be caught at any moment, thrown back into prison, and her release rescinded. She never could quite shake the feeling that she didn’t belong in places as nice as this._

_Her hand wrapped tightly around the warm bottle, she made her way to the kitchen, keeping her footsteps light._

_She couldn’t wait to be back in her room. The four walls granted her, technically still part of the house that wasn’t hers, but she at least felt comfortable there. Her bag was there with a heap of ill-fitting clothes and her sad little worn cardboard box was there with its white blanket and the folder of newspaper clippings she had managed to salvage._

_It was stupid, getting her hopes up, stupid and history suggested she was only setting herself up to get hurt again because optimism and trust in people was for suckers, but she couldn’t stop it. And Emma found herself holding her breath as she opened the fridge._

_There was a section of a shelf set aside for her, stacked with little white bottles of milk. She placed the fresh warm bottle behind the others, making sure the carefully labelled date and time could be seen. It was still amazing to her that she could do that, that she could do something so necessary as feed a human being. Unbelievable that she, Emma Swan, could do anything as worthwhile as growing and then sustaining a child._

_What was even more amazing was the covered plate next to her section._

_Automatically, her eyes lifted to the dark ceiling._

_The woman had, like, a magic bowl of apples or something that refilled constantly and was never empty. So Emma had grabbed a few and nibbled her way through the first two days, settling her growling belly on glasses of water. She was welcome to anything in the kitchen, she had been told, but she’d been told that before and she knew better._

_However, at the end of the second day, a covered plate had been left next to the bottles of milk on the shelf with a note. A simple note suggesting that Ms Mills had cooked too much and Emma should do her the favour of eating it so it wouldn’t go to waste. It had taken her exactly four and a half minutes to scoff the casserole down and rinse her plate before scampering back up the stairs._

_A plate appeared several times a day after that, stacked with sandwiches and pancakes and leftover meals. Emma was convinced that either Regina Mills was habitually incapable of cooking for one even after living alone for god knows how long, or the woman was intentionally trying to fatten her up._

_Still, as her fingers closed around the rim of the chilled plate, Emma couldn’t help but be suspicious._

_Nobody did favours for free._

_She peeled back the foil and had to tamp down on a grin. Lasagne. Damn, but the woman knew how to cook. A fork was the next on her agenda as she silently slid across the room in socked feet, slowly inching the drawer open so as not to make a squeak._

_Just as she was lifting the first forkful to her mouth the light flicked on, making her blink with the sudden glare._

_“Aren’t you even going to heat it up?”_

_Emma stood still, caught, and looked between the woman wrapped in a robe and the microwave she had nodded at. She shrugged carefully and placed the fork back on the plate, lowering them both down to the bench._

_“It beeps.”_

_Ms Mills scowled._

_“Tell me you heat up the other meals?”_

_And Emma looked down, knowing she had done something wrong and unable to deny it._

_“I’m trying to be quiet.” She rushed, filling the silence that descended. “I’m sorry; I’ll go back to my room.”_

_She did not need the lights on to see the scowl had deepened even further as Ms Mills strode across the room, pushed past her and grabbed the plate from the bench._

_“You will do no such thing. You will sit there and you will eat this after it has been heated to the temperature recommended by experts to properly kill any festering bacteria.”_

_Emma quirked her head and watched, curiously, as Regina ran her hand under the tap of the sink and then liberally sprinkled the plate and cold lasagne. With quick, efficient movements Regina then pulled a paper towel off the holder and laid it gently on the top before laying the entire thing in the microwave._

_There was very little point, Emma thought, in pointing out the pristine surfaces of the kitchen around them and the incredibly unlikely possibility of any germ having enough courage to take root._

_“Look, you don’t have to do this.” She stammered. “I mean, thank you and all, you’ve been really nice, but you don’t have to do this. Any of it.”_

_This being the continually appearing food, the sponsoring her for release, talking to her in general, not putting a lock on her door._

_They looked at each other and Ms Mills narrowed her eyes, making Emma feel like she was being sized up, analysed, judged for a thousand bad choices in her life. She shrank slightly, wishing she could just disappear into the floor and never be seen again._

_The heaviness in the air was broken by the too loud _bing_ of the microwave. Regina turned to slide the plate out and then replaced it back on the bench in front of her. _

_“You know, if you know anyplace I can get a job… not anywhere too nice you know? Just, like, a waitressing thing or something? Then I can buy my own stuff. I’ll be gone most of the day. You won’t even know I’m here.”_

_A horrified expression took over the woman._

_“I’ve had jobs before.” It came naturally, that need to defend herself. “I might not look it, what with the jail time and all, but before… I had jobs.”_

_“Firstly, this is a small town and jobs are hard to come by. Secondly, I certainly don’t know of any jobs available around here that would allow you to take regular breaks to allow for your pumping schedule. The only waitress ‘thing’ would be at Granny’s diner and I hardly see you sitting in a toilet stall with your electronic pump and then placing the milk in the large, industrial fridge next to the catering size margarine containers.”_

_With each word, Emma felt smaller and smaller. Of course Ms Mills was right. She should have thought that plan through. She’d had temp jobs before and the employers were all universally focused on working their staff to the ground before they dropped, not one of them likely to welcome a young girl with so many restrictions on her time._

_Stupid, stupid Emma, she thought._

_“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not doing this for you.” Turning away from Emma, Regina filled a glass with chilled water from the fridge and placed it next to Emma’s plate. “This is entirely self-serving. I’m doing it for my son.”_

_At Emma’s confused expression, Regina set her mouth firmly in a line._

_“Whatever you put into your body, Ms Swan, is delivered straight to Henry. I refuse to allow you to malnourish yourself by existing entirely on apples you feel the need to hoard from my fruit bowl, nor from greasy diner food. I find I lack the desire to be a jailor. In that respect, if not for yourself, then for my son you will establish a routine, you will get out of that room and you will begin appearing at normal meal times and actually eat. Anything in this kitchen is yours, I expect you to make good use of that offer and believe me, there is no junk here.”_

_There was no choice but to believe this, so forcefully was it delivered._

_She felt the instinctual urge to nod her head and call her ma’am, felt it close around her like steel bars._

_“If you are still concerned that this is a form of charity, you are welcome to take up any chore you see fit, but you are not required to do so. Can you cook?”_

_Emma scrunched up her face and squirmed a little._

_“Do poptarts count?”_

_“I’ll do the cooking, then.”_

_In stark opposition to the forkful she had been preparing to scoff down minutes before, the one Emma lifted to her mouth was steaming and aromatic, her senses stimulated before it even reached her lips. Her stomach growled out its thankyou and her tastebuds tingled in pleasure at the first hot meal she’d had in a week and the first one in a very long time that actually tasted decent._

_“You know,” She sat down on a stool and grinned at the woman, ignoring the flicker of irritation she had begun to expect whenever she used the expression. “You’re not half bad, Mills.”_

_After several seconds of silence, eyes narrowed at her._

_“Ms. You will address me as Ms Mills.” But this time Emma was not fooled by the icy tone in the voice. “And thank you.”_

***

It was a bit later by the time Emma knocked on the door of her apartment. She felt foolish, but she had forgotten to take her keys and she still felt slightly out of place, just one fraction away from actually belonging there. 

Mary Margaret smiled a welcome at her, eyes warm and brown and welcoming and Emma could do nothing but give a small, tight smile back. 

She hoped it looked sincere, because in all honesty she wanted it to be sincere, but she was unable to tamp down on the flare of injustice and resentment that surged up. She’d been in hospital for days with a head injury, her body was exhausted, her arm stung and itched from the healing scabs, her own brain couldn’t sift through reality and fantasy. 

And everyone kept watching her with hopeful eyes, waiting for her to recover, making her feel guilty for disappointing them. 

“He got home alright.” She gave her apology in small talk, unable to voice her thoughts. “I think I’ve left him more worried than if he hadn’t seen me, though.”

Wide brown eyes softened with pity and made Emma’s jaw set as she walked into the small apartment and stalked towards the kitchen. 

“He’ll be okay.” Her roommate offered. “I’m more worried that you’re not taking care of yourself.”

Emma scoffed. 

“Please, I can manage a walk across town, I’ve been through wor…”

Her voice trailed off and Emma grabbed the edge of the bench to keep from falling over as she was bombarded with bright, painfully sharp images. 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret rushed to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Emma shook her head, more a request for time than a denial. 

“Was there…? Did I… break a toaster here?”

Mary Margaret gasped and Emma paled. 

“I think I’m starting to remember.”

***  
...tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “… I can’t separate the good Regina in my fake memories from this Regina. They’re different, but…” Her brain reached, searched for the right words. “I think she’s in there, somewhere. I think she just needs someone to break through. She can be nice, I think she wants to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairing** : Depending on which character you ask, but... Emma/Regina.  
>  **Rating** : I think this is the mildest rating in one of my fics in a long, long time. PG. Maybe. We'll see.  
>  **Timeline/Spoilers/Setting** : Set in Storybrooke, pre-curse break, approximately mid season one. I would hazard a guess somewhere around True North.  
>  **Disclaimer** : yeah, they're not mine. They've never been mine. They're unlikely to ever be mine. I wouldn't argue, but it's not happening. Anybody out there think differently? Didn't think so.

***

Emma looked in the mirror. 

She had taken the bandage off before she’d even left the hospital so there wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, but that was nothing to the giant ugly gash that was left if she parted the hair on the right side of her skull, grabbed a curtain of it in each hand and pulled back to reveal the scabbing, wrinkled, gnarly skin criss-crossed with stitches. 

Her fingers jabbed at it gently, cautiously, feeling the hint of threat that was a precursor to pain if she pushed too hard. It was tempting. It was actually really damned tempting to just let go of her restraint and attack the edges of the scab with her fingernails and crack it, releasing a torrent of wetness after it. 

But she didn’t. 

She sighed and replaced her hair, adjusting it to cover the wound and make sure her head was fit for public viewing. There was no use scaring small children or animals on the way to town. Such a small, innocuous looking wound and yet it had caused so much trouble, so much confusion. 

Her first visit with Archie was that morning and she didn’t particularly relish sitting in his office and recounting all the graphically detailed intricacies of her brain’s fantasy life. The longer she let others tell her what was real, the sillier she felt about it. 

She could not control the softest yearning she felt, the basic idea that it wasn’t a lie, that somewhere deep down that vision was truer than this reality, but logic and reason won out in the end and she had to admit that they were false. 

Out loud, she didn’t mention the memories much. Not after the first few days.

It was better that way.

“Hey.” She said as a greeting as she made her way into the living area and struck a pose. “Do I look crazy enough for therapy?”

Mary Margaret jumped up quickly from the sofa, but not quick enough for Emma not to notice. Her brow furrowed as Mary Margaret frowned at her and clucked through her teeth. 

“Don’t say ‘crazy’.” She said. “It’s not nice.”

And Emma ducked her head as she gave a sarcastic smile. 

“Sorry, would ‘brain damaged beyond repair’ be better? Delusional beyond all measures of sanity? Completely up the wall bonkers?”

“Stop it, Emma.” But the glare was tempered by the quirk of a small smile as Mary Margaret became infused with purpose and walked towards the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast? I could cook?”

The suggestion did nothing to ease the squirming of her belly. 

“No.” She winced. “I’m not… I’m not hungry. I’ll just grab…”

Mary Margaret sighed. 

“Fruit. Yeah.”

So many small differences. Apparently Emma didn’t slice up fruit to eat as snacks. Apparently, she had cereal or heavy, greasy bacon and eggs for breakfast. Apparently, Emma drove around in a stolen car with old food wrappers on the floor and her life in the trunk. 

Emma had been less than impressed to find the yellow bug in the parking space of the Sherriff. Not that she had been cleared for driving yet, let alone active duty. She had gone to inspect it and left it there, nonplussed. 

When her conditional release had been formalised, in her brain, after Henry had turned ten months, it had been released to her at the completion of all the paperwork. She had looked at it for less than an hour before dropping it off at a used car lot and trading it in for something else. 

Not as flashy, nothing that lasted, sure. But certainly nothing that reminded her of things and people she wanted to forget, their own talents of erasing VIN numbers notwithstanding. But she hadn’t done that, not really. She’d kept it, apparently, kept the car and the necklace and everything that man had left her in prison. A prison she would not have been in if it weren’t for him. 

Emma Swan was much better off in her imagination, with her imaginary girlfriend and imaginary family. 

She sighed as she began slicing a peach onto a plate. 

“I’m sorry.”

Mary Margaret blinked in surprise, the question clear on her face. 

“For not being her.” She elaborated, nodding to the photo frame she’d walked in on the woman studying. “You obviously miss who I was… am… her.”

They looked happy enough, the two women in the photo, her and Mary Margaret. Happy in a way she could remember being with anyone outside of Regina and Henry. She felt a stirring of regret for losing that, for not remembering that part of herself. 

“No, Emma.” Hands brought her out of her reverie, Mary Margaret stood in front of her with her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “Listen to me, you have nothing to apologise for. Nothing. Most likely you’ll get your memories back and, even if you don’t, all that means is that we get to learn to be friends all over again.”

Emma bit her lip. 

“Thank you.” She said, stepping backwards gently enough not to appear rude, but firmly enough that Mary Margaret let her go without question. “Now I know why we’re so close.”

At the woman’s questioning expression, Emma smiled 

“You’re so sweet, I could have used a friend like you growing up.” Emma’s mouth kept forming the words, even as her brain shorted out and her breath froze, her eyes clouding over. “Where were you all… my… life?”

A flash came to her, something dark and surprising and hurtful, a picture in her head of stone and shouting voices, the sickly smell of old dust that threatened to choke her. 

_”You let me live in the same town as her! For nine years! And never once did you…!”_

“Emma?” Yet again the voice broke into her conscious and she blinked, trying to shake the sense of dread as hands once again descended on her shoulders. “Emma! Are you okay?”

Far from okay, Emma grabbed the thin wrists in front of her, the arms attached to the gentle hands on her shoulders. Her fingers wrapped tightly and held on, squeezing until she felt a rapid pulse beat out under her skin. She looked into worried brown eyes and felt the eddying dregs of betrayal, leftover confusion from the flash, it had not been enough to understand what she had been saying or to who, but the thing that came through loud and clear had been this woman, the idea of her. 

“Who are you?” It came out seething, a vicious whisper. “Who are you to me?”

“Mary Margaret.” The blurry face in front of her stammered, swallowed, and tried again. “Mary Margaret Blanchard, your roommate. Emma, please, you’re starting to hurt me.”

Her vision cleared and Emma gasped, eyes drawn to the pinched face of pain in front of her. 

Emma retreated. 

She released her grip, brought her arms in close to her chest, clamped her mouth shut and backed away, feet sliding fast across the floor. 

“I’m sorry.” A whisper, all she was game enough to let out. “I’m so sorry.”

At that moment, right then, that very instant, Emma felt all of five years old. All she wanted was to go back five minutes, ten, a day, back to Mary Margaret being happy with her, her hands on Emma’s shoulders, telling her things would be okay. 

The want was so strong, so different to anything she remembered, all she knew was that she would have to get out of the apartment, away from the confused and hurt expression of her roommate. 

“Archie.” She said the name like a promise, an apology, the only words she had left. “He’ll fix me, I know it.”

The door closed behind her with a final click and Emma did not pause to decipher the small whispered voice of Mary Margaret, did not want her benediction or accusation either way. 

***

Regina’s mornings were finely crafted, every detail considered and planned for. 

She left the house at 8.10, stopped for coffee at 8:25, and arrived at work at precisely 8:40. Give or take five to ten minutes for variations of one sort or another, it left her with plenty of time to begin her day. It had remained this way for over twelve months now. 

In one set of memories for a lot longer than that. 

The differences in her schedule were minimal, barely noticeable. The difference in her attitude and those around her were colossal. Great, shaking tectonic plates that shuddered and uprooted every living thing for miles around. 

Her heels clicked on the tile of the diner as she walked to the register, head down as she began sifting through her purse for the required change. The cost of her morning coffee would be the same at least. Exactly seven steps in, she stopped without looking up. 

“The usual, please, Ms Lucas.”

Her fingers closed around the coins at the exact moment the cheery voice got her attention. 

“Not quite your usual, Regina, but I think you’ll like it!”

Regina blinked, confused, at the large cup and paper bag the woman was holding out to her. That Ruby Lucas might have taken initiative and actually prepared her order before her arrival was not surprising. She did order the same thing at the same time every day. 

“I didn’t order this.”

The fact that she used Regina’s first name, spoke to her in a friendly manner, and had prepared an order that was clearly not hers was something to question. It was strangely and oddly reminiscent of years before. Her breath hitched in her throat and she glared her insistence for a reply of some sort. 

“Oh.” Ms Lucas faltered, her composure obviously rankled. “I know. I mean, it was ordered for you. And paid for.”

No. 

It was not oddly reminiscent of years before. It was exactly like years before. 

Emma Swan. 

She grabbed the bag out of Ms Lucas’ hand, together with the cup, and spun on her heels before striding out of the diner.

The moment that woman had begun interacting with the townsfolk it had become near impossible to remain distant. The woman had dragged her, kicking and screaming, into social situations. She would never be _friends_ with anyone in the town, but living with and then dating Emma Swan made for amiable if not friendly relations with just about everybody. 

She didn’t eat properly at work, Emma had told her on many occasions, letting the minutia of running the town over take her common sense. No matter that she ate a good breakfast, stopped for a brief lunch and created masterpieces in the kitchen at dinner. 

Not good enough for Emma Swan, who had begun a ritual of buying her pastries and cakes and other sugar laden treats to devour in the long mornings at the office. 

It had been the worst kept secret in town that Regina had adored that side of her girlfriend. 

Her fingertips curled into the crinkled paper bag and she could practically smell the Danish inside. Apricot, if she remembered correctly after all this time. It would be too tempting, much too wonderful and to catastrophic, to hurry to her office only to dig right in. 

No. 

Regina Mills had business to attend to and that business was currently shifting on her feet outside Archibald Hopper’s office across the street. 

“Ms Swan!” She called, not breaking stride as the footpath gave way to the bitumen of road. “What must I do to dissuade you from this ill thought out plan to win my friendship?”

The pastry bag waggled absurdly at the end of her fingers, held up between them. 

Emma raised her right eyebrow. 

“It’s a Danish, Regina, not my lifelong pledge.” And then the infuriating creature shrugged as if she didn’t care. “If you don’t want it, here, I’ll take it. No biggie.”

Before Emma could get her greedy little mitts on the bag, Regina curled her fingers tighter around the paper and pulled it back, out of reach. 

“I didn’t say that.”

That was when Emma’s face lit up. 

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Ms Swan.” She bristled, squaring her shoulders and bringing herself up to full height. “This is not an encouragement of any sort. I just dislike waste. You’ll find my response a great deal different if you try the same trick tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Emma’s mouth closed in an absurdly overdone manner, delight practically shining from her features as she nodded. Disbelief and challenge evident on her face. That face, Regina now saw, that looked anything but healthy. Emma had lost weight and her skin had taken on the beginnings of a sallow tint. Worry spiked in her before she could tamp it down as she noted the tinge of red in the corners of the woman’s eyes, the way she sucked her cheeks in against her teeth, it all added to serious agitation and internal struggle and Regina wished she could help. 

No, no she didn’t. She had to remain aloof. She had to curb the impulse to ask if Emma was okay, really honestly okay. 

“Everyone in town keeps telling me what a bitch you are, Regina.” Her stunned silence must have been taken as tacit permission to continue. “But even bitches need to eat. Especially delicious pastries.”

Before she could even blink the astonishment away, Archie Hopper chose that moment to unlock his door and wave a hello at them both. Emma spun on her heel and gave Regina a wink. 

“Maybe next time we can share it.”

By the time Regina recovered, Emma had gone. 

***

_Emma knelt on the floor, her bony knees barely even registering the lush carpet underneath._

_Henry, that tiny little bundle, the wrapped little sausage had grown in the weeks she had been here. He lay on his back on a blanket on the floor, happily kicking his legs and waving his arms in the air as his eyes followed the brightly coloured dangling toys above him._

_According to the strict timetable Regina Mills had written up, he would be due to turn over in five minutes for his prescribed stomach time. All the information Emma would never have known, would never have even had the idea to look for, the sort of things necessary to raise a happy and healthy child._

_She was just content to be here, allowed to kneel reverently by his side and watch the spasmodic barely controlled movements, the gurgles that suggested he was happy, that he had everything he would ever need._

_It was a far cry from the memories she had banked up, all the squalling infants in her mind, the foster children younger than her that had cried relentlessly and been nothing more than nuisances to the parents that cared less for Emma than the new child and barely enough for that one._

_A deep, strident and melodic bell echoed throughout the house and it sounded strange to her ears and, by the shocked and confused look on Regina’s face from behind the desk, it wasn’t a sensation isolated to her alone._

_Regina lowered her reading glasses down her nose to look at her._

_“Are you expecting someone?”_

_But all Emma could do was shrug._

_She launched herself up off the floor easily and went to answer the door as Regina sighed, stood up and rounded her desk, abandoning the work she had been doing to pick her son off the floor. When Emma got to the door she was surprised, and definitely pleased, to see her new friends Ruby Lucas and the school teacher, Mary something, standing there with very nervous expressions on their faces._

_When she had finally worked up the courage to explore the town, stop for a hot chocolate at the diner, it had been easy enough to talk to people. Everyone was very friendly. Emma was not so innocent that she didn’t recognise the curiosity, the thirst for knowledge, that town wide interest in the new girl at the Mayoral Mansion that now lived with the Mayor and her new infant._

_She had assured them, despite their disbelieving and distrusting faces, that it would be perfectly fine to visit, to come and see the new baby. He was beautiful. Surely Regina would not mind._

_But the expression on Regina’s face when they all entered the study made Emma rethink that._

_“What is the meaning of this, Ms Swan?” Regina demanded as she held Henry even closer to her, arms protectively surrounding him. “Why are they here?”_

_“Uh…” But before Emma could respond, Ruby dipped her knees slightly, a gesture of submission and excuse as she held up a brightly wrapped offering. Behind her, the teacher held a large brown teddy with a bright red bow around his neck. “We bought gifts… for the baby. To welcome him. You know? Emma said…”_

_The resulting glower sent her way made Emma shrink in every way possible._

_“She said what?”_

_It was a question to Ruby, but Emma knew it was aimed at her, the raised inflection of danger, the threat, and immediately her mouth went dry. Stupid, stupid Emma. She should have known. Every single person in town had tried to warn her, in their own subtle way, of the viciousness of the Mayor. Their own surprise at the way Emma had spoken of her kindly should have suggested it._

_In the weeks she had stayed there, Regina Mills had been tired and worn and exhausted, but had never been spiteful or mean or threatening. She had welcomed Emma into the house, shown gratitude for all she was doing, had cooked for her, had given her more than anyone else in her life._

_She had allowed her to see the baby she had given up, not only see him, but help her with him. Emma was allowed to pick him up sometimes, hold him, change him, occasionally give him a bottle. All moments she cherished whether Regina knew the significance of them or not._

_But right then, right in front of her, Regina Mills was another creature altogether._

_“I… I…” The words stuck in her throat. She wanted to scoff, to tell Regina that she was being silly, that these were nice people and they only wanted to wish her and her baby luck. “Please, I didn’t mean…”_

_She should have known. It was too much. There was always a limit and she had reached it. Regina would contact her parole officer sooner rather than later and she would be back in prison the second Henry could stomach any other nourishment at all._

_“Don’t send me back.” Was what came out. “I thought it would be okay. They wanted to see him, the baby, they wanted to congratulate you. I’m sorry.”_

_Curiosity, that was the expression on Regina’s face and her head turned on her neck like a hawk sizing up its prey as she scrutinized Emma further, eyes flicking down and up before they softened._

_“Of course.” Though the words were gentle, the crispness in her voice alerted Emma to the fact that Regina was still miles out of her element as her entire right hand covered the back of Henry’s head, fingers splayed out in a defensive shield. “In future I would like to be forewarned of such an occasion.”_

_The air warmed a few degrees and everyone’s breath came a little easier._

_Ruby sidled to the table against the wall and rested the wrapped bundle there, gesturing for Mary… something – Emma really needed to learn the rest of her name – to do the same. And then they both stood expectantly, looking hesitantly between Emma and Regina._

_Emma sucked all the moisture from her teeth before she breathed in and stepped to Regina, arms out._

_“Can they see him?”_

_It was a loaded question and the flare that rose in Regina’s eyes said a very clear, desperate no. The tension in Regina’s shoulders did not ease, nor did the way she held her mouth slightly puckered in distaste, but she did relent and let Emma take him out of her arms._

_In moments, Emma was swarmed with women oohing and aahing and reaching out to touch a hand to Henry’s round little head, fingers combing through his feather light wisps of hair._

_No more than six feet away, Regina watched them with narrowed, jealous and unblinking eyes._

_“He… he…” The shy, stammering school teacher braved a look to the side with more than a hint of yearning in her tone. “He’s beautiful, Madame Mayor.”_

_Regina smiled, but to Emma it looked more like a snarl as her eye teeth came into view._

_“I realise that, Ms Blanchard.” With pin point accuracy, Regina raised her brow. “I suspect the lunchtime bell will ring soon. Shouldn’t you be off?”_

_Emma watched Ms Blanchard’s face pale as she took a step back._

_“Yes… yes.” She nodded, a physical confirmation as she looked to Emma and Ruby helplessly. “I have to go. See you guys later.”_

_It was intriguing and Emma quirked her head, hefting Henry in her arms as Ruby fell back to murmuring exclamations of delight to his face, and she watched Regina visibly relax with the exit of one person. In one fell swoop she had not only cleared the woman out of the house and assured that it would be a long time before she came back, she had also made certain Emma would not repeat the gesture._

_This was the person they told her about._

_It was not the woman who sighed at four in the morning, her weary head drooping as she handed a tied diaper bag to Emma and shared a conspiratorial smile, it was not the woman who remained passive but whose eyes sparkled with delight at the eagerness to which Emma now attacked her meals, it was not the woman who had called her downstairs and across an entire house to show her that Henry now rocked from side to side in a voice shaking with excitement._

_And Emma wondered why she got to see that side that nobody else knew and barely believed existed._

***

She picked at a thread coming loose at the knee of her jeans. 

The four walls of his office closed in on her and she had been in here before, but never as a patient. Funny, how a casual visit made this space seem comfortable and welcoming, the book shelves and sofa made to look like a home, a non-threatening environment to relax and open up. 

Now that she was sitting on a chair being scrutinized, Emma felt claustrophobic like never before. 

“It’s… hard.” She swallowed and shrugged, before looking up with a smirk. “That’s what she said, right?”

Archie did not laugh with her. He lowered his glasses just a little to look at her. 

“What’s hard, Emma?”

She sighed. This was not fun.

“Right, okay. I mean…” Her fingers plucked the thread again. “It’s just… I don’t know. I just… there are so many me’s and I don’t know which is the right one, you know?”

He kept looking at her. 

“Yes.” Another nod. “I know which is which. Of course. This is real. Everyone keeps telling me who I’m supposed to be, but… I don’t think I like her. I don’t like the me they keep telling me I am. I want to be the me I remember.”

The soft scratch of his pen nib sliding across the page reached her ears and she watched him concentrate on the page. 

“We’ll come back to that last point, but first, what don’t you like about her? This version of yourself you’re ‘supposed’ to be?”

Emma closed her eyes and leaned her head back, looked up to the ceiling. 

“She’s so… lonely. And closed off. Nobody I ask can give me any concrete answers on who she really is. It’s all basic stuff: I moved around a lot, I lived alone, I had some vaguely shifty jobs before I became a bail bonds person. I had one night stands. I didn’t have friends. I’ve been here for six months and not once have I left to visit friends or have them visit me. There’s nothing personal in there. Nothing people can’t find on google!”

“You’re a very private person, Emma.” He almost sounded apologetic. “I did not get a chance to speak to you in depth before, but from what I had seen, you use deflection to keep people prying.”

It ached, she thought of the life lived and lost inside her head, the albums of photos of her and her son, her girlfriend, all three of them, boxes of memorabilia and drawings and cards and notes and gifts. An imaginary lifetime. 

It boiled upside and came out choked around an irrelevant sentence. 

“I kept my old boyfriend’s car!”

Archie nodded. 

“And the you that you remember, you didn’t keep the car?”

“No.” She hummed it, a declaration. “Why would I want to? That man used me. I… I mean, that person, I imagined, she deserved better, you know? She had people who legitimately cared for her here. She didn’t need to hold onto keepsakes of such a hurtful…”

But her mouth closed up and she looked away. Too late, she knew, way too late for him not to have picked up the pertinent thread. 

“She didn’t deserve it?” He asked gently. “But this you does?”

Emma bought her hand up to her chin and rested the lot on her elbow, looking off to the side, pretending that the framed degrees on his wall were the most interesting things she had ever seen. 

“This me is spineless. That’s what I mean when I say I don’t like her. She has no family, no real friends, and no self-respect.”

He looked at her, waiting patiently until she looked back. His eyes were kind and frustratingly neutral, no judgement at all, as professional as possible. She wished, only slightly, that there would be something she could pick on him for, something to make her stand up and storm out, some excuse, but there wasn’t. And her outburst that morning made her sit down and play along. 

“Do you think, Emma, that some part of you felt like that before your accident?”

She cocked her head and he continued. 

“It’s possible that you recognised the parts of yourself you didn’t like and, once you had made a more permanent setting for yourself here in Storybrooke, you also understood how to fix those parts of yourself?”

Her jaw set. She wanted to understand all the confusing images in her head, wanted them all to make sense in a reality that was real, wanted her memories to be linear. She knew Archie was her best option for that to happen. But it didn’t mean she had to play along with everything he did, didn’t have to make it too easy on him. 

“But that doesn’t explain…!”

“Yes.” He insisted calmly. “Yes it does.”

“No.” She said again, small and bitter and resenting having to be in the claustrophobic room in the first place. “No, I have no idea why I would have chosen Regina.”

He folded his hands together on top of the little clip board. 

“Perhaps your mind recognised the need you felt for a family, a home, a place in this world, and chose to give it to you in the form you had already come to know: your son.” His understanding and expectant arched eyebrow mocked her across the room, but she had already turned to face him more fully. “He came with a built in family, it was easy to slot yourself into his world in this way, and it gave you something that your brain obviously felt was missing.”

Her mouth had gone dry. 

“It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with Regina herself. It doesn’t mean you have feelings for her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She bit her lip and looked up at the small little window above the filing cabinet. 

There were no words to explain to him, to any of these people in this world, what that other life was like. That other person she had lived with and grown to love and changed and been changed by. Everything about her was different and alien to those around her, every aspect of her life without Regina had changed her in some small way. 

And obviously she had imagined changing Regina. 

“I’m supposed to hate her.”

That was when Archie frowned. 

“What makes you think you’re supposed to hate Regina?”

And Emma shrugged. 

“Well, I mean… everyone keeps saying it. Henry won’t let me forget it.”

He tapped his pen against his pad of paper, the half scribbled notes inside the manila folder with her name typed neatly in the tabs. 

“You’re basing how you’re ‘supposed’ to feel on other peoples’ perceptions?” He looked her straight in the eye. “What if they’re wrong?”

At her surge upwards, Archie lifted a hand palm outwards in a pacifying gesture. 

“I don’t mean that the false memories are real, just… what if what people think your actions with, to and around Regina mean one thing, when in fact your own perceptions of these actions were different?”

She blinked and tried to follow his train of thought. 

“Sorry Doc.” She winced and touched the tender side of her head. “I’m gonna need you to keep it simple.”

A gentle smile and a nod of the head was her answer. 

“Sorry. What if you didn’t hate Regina? That perhaps your actions might have seemed hostile to outsiders, but you felt differently about them yourself?”

Hope surged within her like a little green sprouting tendril out of the ground. 

But she stomped on it quickly. 

“I don’t think so.” She sighed a second later. “Even Regina says we hate each other.”

It was hard to argue with the facts and she could see he wanted to say something, but a moment later he blinked it away and changed his tactic. 

“And the Regina you know, or the one people keep reminding you she really is, she would be completely honest about her feelings with you?” He quirked his head to the side. “That doesn’t sound like someone that hates you, Emma.”

Exhaustion and confusion made her head swim and she tried to blink to maintain conscious control of her memories. Her head swam with the recent, somewhat hazy but completely correct and irrefutable memories that occurred after her fall in the woods. 

Regina, her face angry and annoyed, but all of it hiding concern as Emma bled in front of her. The worried form she had seen briefly outside her hospital room. The twinkling of eyes in the dark underneath her apple tree. For _her_ Regina, it was a shockingly uncaring woman in regards to her, but for the woman everyone else described , the Regina from _here_ it spelled something else. 

“I… I… don’t know.” She hated how small her voice sounded, how weak and needy she sounded, begging for scraps. “What do you think her actions mean, Archie? Has she said anything to you?”

His expression was firm, but gentle. 

“Emma. This time is to examine your experiences, your feelings and your perceptions of others. I am not here to reveal personal details about other people. I’m not going to tell you things about Regina she obviously has not told you herself, but I can help you examine your own reactions regarding her. Do you understand?”

Emma sighed. 

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Well.” He brushed over the issue, now that they had both acknowledged the limitations. “Regardless of your motivations and feelings before the accident, which are hard to define given you don’t remember them yet, what are your feelings about Regina now?”

That was even harder to answer. 

“I don’t know. It’s like, everyone sees her as this big heinous bitch, but… but…”

But she didn’t. In no way did Emma see her that way. Archie obviously was not going to make this easy on her as he waited. 

“… I can’t separate the good Regina in my fake memories from this Regina. They’re different, but…” Her brain reached, searched for the right words. “I think she’s in there, somewhere. I think she just needs someone to break through. She can be nice, I think she wants to be.”

He nodded. 

“Our time’s almost up, Emma.” Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, surprised, relieved and grateful all at the same time. He looked over his notes and then back to her. “But first I want to come back to the point you made earlier. When you said you want to be the you that you remember.”

Emma blinked, searching her memory for the conversation until she found the thread. 

“Why can’t you be that Emma?” He asked. “Now that you know the difference, now that you have the tools, whether they be imaginary fake memories or not, why can’t you be that Emma that you like?”

She had no answer. 

***

_The buttons on the tiny suit clicked closed with clear, crisp relish as Regina smiled downwards and tickled his socked feet._

_Bright eyes shone up at her and chubby little hands waved upwards, attempting to grab at her face. She grinned even further and cooed, grabbing him just below his armpits and lifting him up. Henry gurgled his glee at being upright as he slid easily into the groove of her left arm and hip._

_“You’re in a good mood this morning.” Regina couldn’t help but dip her knees as she walked, bouncing slightly. “Let’s go see where our little guest is, shall we?”_

_After four months, their routine was fairly well established and by this time Regina was slightly miffed that she had not seen Ms Swan at all that morning. If nothing else, the woman was certain to pop her head around the door when Regina was giving Henry his morning feed, just to ask after the child._

_That was their main, if not only, topic of conversation. Safe. Distant. Neither of them was particularly partial to grand, emotional dialogue or sharing personal information. Talking about Henry, his daily progress and the minutia of his life, was something they could easily and naturally discuss without actually saying anything of import._

_She would not admit to seeking out the infernal woman on her own, but with Henry as her shield she had all the excuse she needed._

_Emma’s door was closed and had been all morning. It was rare of the woman to sleep late. In fact, Regina hadn’t noticed Emma do much sleeping at all. She appeared at most times during the day and several during the night, even taking over some night time feeds to allow Regina her sleep. Whatever rest she was getting, Regina mused, had to come in broken pieces, interrupted segments and stolen moments._

_A frown lingered on her face that she refused to acknowledge as she sighed at the empty door and then turned towards the stairs._

_“Well.” She said, an over exaggerated grimace on her face. “I know she’s not at the coffee pot.”_

_The first few weeks had shown a rather timid woman, but the longer she’d stayed without a problem, it seemed the more relaxed she got. And Emma and Regina had already had many strong words regarding the blonde’s diet and habits._

_They had come to a grudging truce and Regina was only allowed to interfere so much as it affected milk production. Caffeine was off the list. Chocolate was… a trickier issue, decided on a case by case basis. Regina succumbed to the inevitability of salt and diner food on occasion. And Emma seethed as she drank her minimum eight glasses of water a day._

_The downstairs proved to be as empty as the upstairs. Regina was just about to call Emma’s cell phone when she heard the sound of a car door slamming in the drive outside. Confusion hit her. As far as she knew, Emma didn’t drive. At least she hadn’t in the time she’d been here, she didn’t have a car, and had made no suggestion she would even want to._

_Her next thought was immediately about her Benz._

_Barrelling out of the house, Regina expected to come face to face with a guilty expression. Instead, she found herself looking at the woman’s backside as it hung out of the open bonnet of the car. A tight backside in even tighter jeans and, honestly, a great deal of literature had told her that a figure like that mere months after giving birth was rare indeed._

_“There you are.” She said primly, a little miffed. “Henry was waiting for his good morning.”_

_A bright smile and messy torrent of blonde hair tied back into a loose ponytail appeared from under the hood._

_“My little man!” Emma rushed forward, obviously planning to smother the child with kisses. “Didjoo miss me? Didjoo?”_

_Regina immediately stepped back, shielding Henry with the free side of her body._

_“Ms Swan!” She was reluctant to actually push the woman off her and Henry, but did manage a wave of her free hand between them to create distance. “We have talked about a) baby talk, b) kissing him overly much and c) you are completely covered in grease.”_

_Emma quirked her head._

_“We’ve talked about me covered in grease? Where was I?” But then she smiled again, large and wide. “Look, you might have talked about it, but I didn’t agree. There’s no such thing as too much kissing for a baby. Look at him, Regina. Look at him!”_

_And then Emma Swan actually did launch herself at baby Henry and slather her lips all over his face. His delighted little gurgling giggles sounded, much to Regina’s chagrin. Regina did not try very hard to cover the annoyed sigh and a little tsk sound of her tongue as she futilely rubbed a dark greasy patch on his otherwise shiny pink baby brow._

_“Oh, leave it. He likes it.” Cooed Emma. “He’s Emma’s little grease monkey, aren’t you? You just Emma’s little grease monkey.”_

_Regina frowned._

_“I am taking him inside for yet another bath. And you can take my car to the Tillman’s garage for its service, where it belongs. Who knows what you’ve just done to it.”_

_For the life of her she never managed to figure out just how the woman managed to twist her body into such unnatural shapes, like the one just now as Emma tilted her shoulders askew, leaning her head sideways and twisted her spine into such an awkward angle it looked painful. The entire effect gave Emma a rather appealing, if twee adorableness and dear lord Regina needed to sleep if these were the sorts of thoughts she was having._

_“Relax, okay?” Then Emma straightened again with a gesture back to the Benz. “I changed her oil, filled up all the fluids, swapped over her brake pads. She’s golden. And I probably saved you a few hundred bucks in the bargain.”_

_Regina’s mouth fell open and Emma shrugged._

_“You said take on chores. I might not be able to cook a pot roast. But cars? I know.” She gave a sheepish smile. “One of my foster brothers liked them, he was nice to me.”_

_“Well.” She did not know what to say, so settled for blinking instead. “Thank you, Ms Swan.”_

_There was a tense expectancy in the air and Regina had absolutely no idea what to do with it or what she was supposed to say, so she fell back on to her natural instincts, twirled on her ankles and began walking straight back into the house._

_“Hey.” Emma called after her, the lightness in her voice already alerting Regina to the newfound cheekiness. “When do I get to take her for a spin?”_

_The words threw her for a moment and Regina couldn’t answer, but then her eyes fell onto the sleek black lines of her first baby. The Benz. And she smiled, a large crocodile smile of confidence._

_“You can relax on that front, Ms Swan. Henry will drive that car before you do.”_

***

Emma folded laundry. 

The apartment was quiet and she was alone. It was such a mundane, thoughtless activity that it was actually putting her mind to rest. Although she did not know for sure, it did not take a college graduate to determine with some form of educated guess who each of the clothes belonged to: her or Mary Margaret. They had a distinctly different taste in clothing. 

She hummed in the back of her throat, something indistinct she couldn’t name, the action soothed her. A throwback from all the times she had bounced a teething child in her arms at four in the morning. Or imagined she had. 

Her fingers itched to fold a small pair of shorts, to reach into tiny pockets to pull out excess tissues or small pebbles or whatever treasure he had found during the day. 

But she had never done that, Emma reminded herself adamantly, she had never been a true mother to Henry like that. She had to stop thinking of it like that before she stepped on toes she could not unflatten, before she ruined an already tenuous relationship between her and her son. 

Perhaps she could ask Regina, if she caught her in a good mood, perhaps the woman would one day let her know of all the milestones she had missed. What his first word had really been, how he had taken his first steps, when he had outgrown the baby capsule in the car. 

All the minute details her brain had thrown together in one second of bloody impact. 

The basket was empty and Emma sighed as she lifted her own pile and took it to her sparse, empty, impersonal room to put her clothes away. It took less than five minutes and she returned to the table to look at Mary Margaret’s pile. 

The apartment was empty and Emma was alone. 

They were roommates, surely it wouldn’t hurt to put Mary Margaret’s clothes away. She’d be home soon. The woman was taking Henry home after a friendly, but exhausting dinner. 

That child did not stop asking questions and, as much as Emma was grateful that he wanted to know all about their false life together, it hurt Emma to tell him, to answer that hungry look in his eyes. Because she knew and she understood, she felt it too whenever she looked at his tall and lanky frame fast losing the trappings of childhood. No matter how many questions she answered, how many details she told him, it didn’t change the fact that it never happened, that these wonderfully rich and vibrant memories were not true. They only fuelled the hunger, the need for them, for both Emma and Henry. 

And then Henry had made reference to something again that he had bitten off mid-sentence and Mary Margaret had hushed him, loudly and forcefully, before he could elaborate. It frustrated Emma beyond reasoning. 

Mary Margaret’s room was quaint and inviting and Emma felt a flicker of memory tickling her brain, something sad as she looked at the quilt on the bed. 

She had the strangest urge to lie down. 

With a quick flick of eyes to the door, she did just that, telling herself it would just be for a minute. But the second she rested her back on the coverlet she felt a hard brick like object against her spine. It was natural curiosity, she told herself, nothing more as she reached under and pulled out the thick, ancient looking book. 

Fairytales. 

A heavy, ominous feeling settled over her and she tried to laugh it off. There was no reason to be afraid of such childish things. Mary Margaret had probably just fallen asleep the night before reading them. She would have to tease the woman about it, reading princess tales before bed. 

Her hand creaked open the top cover, her eyes scanning the beautiful lettering and detailed script. It would not hurt to look at the pages, surely. She could not understand why her hand shook as she reached out to fan the pages open. 

_Cinderella_. 

A nagging, unpleasant feeling itched at the back of her brain and she blinked, trying to dislodge it as she shook her head. The picture was beautifully illustrated and looked almost familiar. But that thought was ludicrous. Her hand once more lifted several pages, letting them flicker against her fingers like autumn leaves. 

The book fell open on a wedding and the tingling, itching feeling in her brain suddenly turned to sharp pain. 

Emma tried to blink her dizziness away, tried to clear her head and draw her eyes away from the book, but she was frozen and a small keening sound reached her ears, confusing her for several second until she realized it was herself. 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret’s voice sounded as if it came through a waterfall, thick and slurred and fuzzy. “Emma what are you…? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

She wanted to say nothing. Nothing was wrong. Of course she was okay. But her vision was blackening and her only pinpoint of vision was blinding her with a sharp, burning pain flashing in her skull as she could not look away from the figure in the book. 

“Regina.”

Emma gasped, one word before she blacked out completely. 

***  
 _...tbc..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Please tell me I didn't really walk into Regina's house and grope her?"_

***

Regina Mills could go a long, long time without being in the halls of the hospital ever again. 

“Ms Blanchard.” The name came out like an admonishment, a harsh critique that hit its mark as she watched the woman flinch. “I would much prefer not to be called to the hospital at any time, let alone to ferry my panicked son back and forth.”

They both looked towards the scant opening in the doorway, the muted light that shone through and the soft cadences of voices behind. 

“If Emma Swan cannot keep herself out of this establishment, I would appreciate you try to minimise the trauma to Henry.”

Mary Margaret ducked her head, a guilty flush rising on her neck. 

In all honesty, it was hardly the teacher’s fault that Henry had found the truth minutes after he had walked into the school building that morning. His teacher had not been there and the reason why had been the talk of the school yard. Ambulances in the evening were not a common occurrence in Storybrooke and people took notice. 

“I’m sorry.” The apology was automatic and rushed. “I don’t know what happened, she’s been fine all week… nothing happened.”

Regina’s eyebrows rose. This woman was timid and meek and mousy, a far cry from her true persona, and yet she held the same tells. Snow White or Mary Margaret, Regina could read her like a children’s book. She did know. 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I…. I…” Hands twisted inside themselves again and again, to the point where Regina was almost ready to reach out and slap them down. A quick glare made Mary Margaret continue. “I was only gone for twenty minutes, not long at all, just enough to drop Henry home. I didn’t even realise he’d left it there, we’d hidden it so she wouldn’t see it, I don’t think she needs it right now, but she found it…”

Regina cleared her throat and glared harder. 

“The book.” Mary Margaret whispered guiltily and even before the words had left her mouth, Regina’s heart sank heavily in her chest. “I didn’t think, what with her confusion and memory problems, that she needed to be confronted with Henry’s idea of fairy tales, but she found the book and…”

The words drifted off into a small droning buzz inside her head as Regina closed her eyes and tried not to overreact by throttling the woman in front of her. That cursed book was the _last_ thing Emma needed to see. If Henry could be believed, Emma had begun remembering some of her false memories, she did not need to have the truth shoved down her throat before they’d been cemented. 

She could still hear the dull thumping knock on the front door, smell the alcohol that reeked even through the wood, and the red eyed broken creature leaning against the frame as a bottle was swished and pointed haphazardly in her direction. 

_”You. You bitsh! You made meloveyou. An’ I wanna hatechoo. How coul’ you? An’ my son!”_

No. No, Emma had not been able to handle the truth and she needed to be kept from it again for her own good. 

“Ms Blanchard!” She cut off whatever drivel the woman had been spouting. “I find it hard to believe your continuing encouragement regarding Henry and that book. Obviously this just goes to show how damaging it is. There will be no more discussions between you and my son, or anybody else, involving his ridiculous theories. Just in case you were wondering, this is not a request. Do you understand?”

Mary Margaret swallowed, eyes widening for just a second, before she capitulated in a nod. 

A small creak made them both turn to the side and Regina felt her face softening, one grand, fluid motion of relaxing as she smiled in as reassuring a way as she possibly could. 

“You see, Henry? Ms Swan is perfectly fine.”

His eyes did not seem to agree and his reluctance to leave the room behind him was a physical, visible thing. 

The way her hand reached out was her choice, the natural, habitual way it curved around the back of his neck to softly guide him against her. It was a movement borne of years of casual intimacy, a lifetime of closeness, a memory forgotten by everyone. She could not help or guide his response, the way he twitched away from her touch and slumped out of her reach. 

It clenched, as it always clenched, never once getting easier, and she wondered if she could use this last thing to finally get Henry to listen and get rid of that damnable book. 

Regina Mills did not sacrifice her son’s entire childhood, the love he had given her so easily, her own happy ending and that of Emma’s, for it all to crumble now. 

***

_Emma pointed her face down to the bowl of porridge in front of her._

_Off to the left, soft gurgles and babbles made the sound track to her morning; she could not tune them out and did not even want to, she loved listening to Henry’s nonsense chatter. She could picture the way his chubby, awkward little fingers smashed against the blocks on his high chair._

_“Are… are you sure he’s ready?”_

_She didn’t want to look up, couldn’t look up, could not watch it as it happened. There was no way to explain the cold fear that clenched in her chest._

_“I think he’s more than ready.” Across the kitchen counter, Regina studiously measured out tablespoons of rice cereal into a small bowl. “If we delay it any further, I fear he’ll reach across my lap at dinner, wrench the fork from my hand and stab me with it just to get my chicken.”_

_There was no denying the eager way with which baby Henry followed people’s actions when it came to food. He had even attempted to grab whatever they’d been eating from their hands. Objectively, Emma knew he was ready._

_“But… but…” She did not want him to be ready. “… what about his stomach?”_

_It was a low blow, harsh, and she did not need to look up to see the flash of worry and guilt on Regina’s face._

_Of course Regina had consulted the town doctor, had made Dr Whale consult with eight different paediatric specialists and surgeons online, had read any and all available material on the matter. Of course she had. Emma had watched her wrestle with those demons._

_It was not a choice made on the spur of the moment._

_“What are you really worried about?”_

_The sound of the measuring spoon hitting the bench made Emma look up. Regina watched her with a confused frown as her hand hovered over the bottle retrieved from the fridge. That small white bottle that sat on the bench and glared at her accusingly._

_She had filled it, she had sat in her room listening to music as her brain barely registered the soft thumping wheeze of the pump, the pull of it, filled it with the only thing that gave her any worth at all._

_“Nothing.” Emma shrugged. “I just…”_

_Henry was starting solid foods. And he wouldn’t need Emma anymore. Which meant Regina wouldn’t need her. She knew, she had always known, that her place in the house, in her son’s life, anywhere at all, was temporary. Knew that it would come to an end one day and she would have to move on._

_She had no real money, no savings, nothing and she had no choice but to go back to Boston. At least Boston. The closest large city she could find a shelter. Move on, move out, move along. The story of her life. She had just forgotten to protect herself this time, shafted out of her usual routine by jail time, forgotten not to get attached._

_Emma always forgot._

_Her hand trembled, the only outward sign of the way her entire body shook, uncontrollable, her ribs closing in on a block of ice and squeezing. The spoon clattered against the bowl and she dropped it, tried to hide the reality. Her appetite was gone, anyway._

_“It’s good.” She ducked her head as she stood up, went to rinse her bowl out in the sink. “He’s getting so big.”_

_That little tiny bundle that had grown, that had mastered control of his limbs and fingers, that reached out and took the things he wanted, the little personality she had been unprepared for. She had agreed, grateful to be free of the prison, to stay here and provide the milk, expected nothing but a duty and an occasional sighting of a scrawny, wailing little thing._

_But she was not prepared, had no defences, for the overwhelming pull she felt to him, that little body that grinned when she entered the room, that put out his hands and reached for her, his little eyes sparkling brilliantly._

_And Regina, Ms Mills, she had never expected to like the woman. They were an odd pair, certainly, but they got along and surprisingly well. She wanted to stay here, wished she could, wanted to be friends for as long as possible._

_That was not even mentioning the sly looks, the way Emma’s eyes would travel now and again over the curves of the older woman._

_“Emma?” Regina was concerned, Emma could tell, voice soft and full of worry. “Are you… are you crying?”_

_Dammit._

_“No.” But there was no way to discreetly reach up to wipe her face without being obvious, so she kept her face turned, pointed down, away. “I don’t cry. I don’t, I…”_

_A hand slipped into the crook of her elbow and turned her around. Emma further ducked her head, pressing her chin into her chest, wishing it all to be over. Hated herself for showing even that much weakness._

_It was absurd. They had each seen each other in less than their best. Too many sleepless nights spent walking the halls at three in the morning, a restless fevered baby on her shoulder meant Regina had lost her composure more than once. There were only so many times Emma could witness Regina deal with a diaper explosion, or baby vomit, or getting peed on by a tiny, well aimed penis and not see the woman as human and fallible. In those moments, Emma and Regina were soldiers in the trench together._

_Yet just then, Emma could not allow her to see the breakdown._

_“It’s just a bit of rice cereal.” Regina’s voice was soft and probing. “What could…? Oh.”_

_The hand dropped from her arm and Emma shrank back._

_“We knew it was coming, right?”_

_Silence hovered over them for so long Emma braved a glance up and she saw wide, understanding eyes watching her. Her skin shrunk under the gaze._

_“I’m sorry.” It came out like a sniffle. “I’m stupid to make a fuss. Of course it wasn’t going to last. I’ll have to look somewhere else, I’ll have to get ready, I’ll…”_

_Regina’s head quirked to the side._

_“Do you want to go?”_

_“No!” It burst out of her mouth before she could bite down on it, causing a halt in the murmured babble next to them. “I mean, of course not. You’ve been really good to me, but… that was the terms, right? I stay here until I’m not needed anymore?”_

_When Emma had first arrived, she had been just scared and lonely enough to voice her fears out loud. Since then, she had recovered much of her protective shell, the demeanour that told everyone she could not give a shit one way or the other._

_But Regina had taken notice and she did then as she had done those other times, kept very still, her hands outwards as if not to spook a startled and wild animal._

_“What will you do?”_

_Her brain shut down and she flashed to memories of the streets, all the doors shut in her face, the people who seemed so much taller and stronger and deadlier than herself, the dark suggestive voices of the local pimps that wanted to scoop her up, the dig of hunger that tightened like a screw in her belly._

_“I don’t know, god!” Her voice broke again and she turned away from Regina and away from the little whisper of whimper that came from the high chair, not knowing where to go even in the moment. “You don’t understand, you don’t… it’s paradise here. You eat three meals a day and you have heat and it’s probably cool in summer too, and there’s carpet and clean sheets on the bed and people don’t judge you, just because you wear the same clothes day in and day out and they have holes in them, but you can’t…”_

_She was crying again, her right hand stretched up and wound in her hair, pulling against her scalp, and Regina stepped closer, just one step._

_“Emma.” It was a call, a soft reminder. “Emma, you don’t have to leave.”_

_Emma closed her eyes and felt herself shrink down on the spot, closing up into a tight ball. She wanted to believe, she wanted to trust the woman standing across from her nearly close enough to touch. Months of that tension, that coiled hungry truth in her chest that knew she would be patted on the head and wished a cursory good luck and tossed away the minute she became useless again, it boiled up within her and she couldn’t hold it back anymore._

_“I’m too old for the system.” She whispered, a broken little plea. “I ran away when I was sixteen, because I didn’t know how good I had it, even in the worst homes, but the streets… I can’t… I won’t do that again. But they won’t take me back, I’m too old… I’m too old.”_

_She would do it, too, would smile and nod and play the dutiful, obedient child for the social worker if only they did take her back, shove her in some institution where the only thing she had to protect herself from was the other girls and some of the wardens. She’d been such a stupid kid not to recognise the safety that world had provided, even amongst the landmines of violence and intimidation and the occasional beating._

_“Emma.” The call came, soft, landing on her shoulders with the hands that held her steady and shook her slightly. “I would really like you to stay.”_

_Teeth pierced her lip sharply and everything inside her, every memory she had told her not to listen, not to get her hopes up, to bury it all and save herself before reality slapped her down even harder. And she cursed herself, hated herself, told herself she deserved everything she got as she reached out and laid her hands on the forearms that framed her._

_“Really?”_

_The one word that damned her._

_“Call me selfish, if you like.” Regina shrugged. “I’ve become quite used to having help with Henry and I will actually kill you if you tell anyone this, but I don’t… I don’t like the thought of being alone anymore.”_

_It sounded as if it hurt Regina to say it and, in that moment, Emma felt the truth in the statement. Understated, plain and simple, the words held a deeper meaning that Emma was unsure she could read properly or just hoped was there. She had not even allowed herself to name the growing pit of emotion in her belly when it came to this woman._

_She had learned very early on not to allow herself to rely on anyone, not to trust them, or make her own happiness depend on them. Her brief months shacked up with Henry’s father had only cemented that viewpoint and she had stewed for months in her jail cell damning the human race as a whole. Yet Regina Mills had changed that, in some small, visceral indefinable way. In the same way that Emma knew she had changed Regina. Everybody in town claimed she was a harsh, closed off woman, but Emma had seen another side._

_And she wanted to continue seeing it, wanted to see more. It scared her in a white hot scalding terror to even admit it, to put a name to her wants inside her own head. Having desires and hopes only made the reality that much more crushing to bear._

_“Henry won’t need me anymore.”_

_She said it like an offering, the last out Regina needed to be rid of her._

_“He needs you more than you think he does.” Was her answer, firm and unrelenting. “And I would like you to stay.”_

_Protecting herself was one thing; completely ignoring the best opportunity she had ever had was another. Emma squeezed her fingers around the flesh of Regina’s arms, a gentle agreement, the physical embodiment of her grabbing the life raft and pulling herself in._

_“I’m going to get a job.” She promised. “I’m going to pay my way. I won’t owe you anything.”_

***

“Thanks, David.” Emma gave him a small, weak smile as he dropped her bags at the door. “Are you sure you won’t come in?”

Blue eyes flicked towards the wood hopefully for just one second too long before he reached up and scratched the back of his neck with his left hand, awkwardness and reluctance obvious on his face. 

“Uh, I… I shouldn’t.”

“Right.” Emma nodded. “Yes. Well, thank you.” 

She watched him walk back down the stairs and gave him enough grace to exit the building before she turned to fit her key into the lock. This was the second time she had been released from the hospital in a week. The previous week when she had walked through the door, she had been scared and confused and shaken up. This time was different; she’d had extra time to get comfortable in the life prescribed to her. 

Emma paused before she took that step through to the apartment. 

“Are you okay?” Mary Margaret was quick to check her over, eyes roaming from head to foot as if Emma’s body might actually be falling apart in front of her eyes. “Do you need some help? I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick you up.”

Irritation swarmed up inside her, unwelcome and unbidden, a little voice that proclaimed _you’re not my mother_ and a softer voice that whispered _Henry thinks I’m yours_. She lifted her right hand, palm outwards. 

“I’m fine.” 

And she was. For the first time in over a week, she was okay. More than okay, she was good. She was no longer confused, she didn’t feel fragmented or broken or wrong for the memories in her head. Things had gotten clear. 

“Better, actually.” Emma smiled as she tilted her head to the right. “I remember everything.”

She did. 

She really, really did. 

She remembered Boston and her apartment, the name of her landlord and how much rent she’d paid, she remembered the name of the moving company that had packed her scant belongings and sent them to Storybrooke. The day Henry had come to find her and all the days since, the slow growing progression of her relationship with him. And everyone else in this town. 

She even remembered exactly why David didn’t want to step inside the apartment. 

“Really?” Mary Margaret’s face lit up, a brilliant dazzling smile of hope illuminating her features. “Everything?”

Emma hummed her agreement as she walked gingerly to the kitchen counted and leant her forearms on it, foot searching for the familiar stool, hooking it and bringing it closer so she could sit down. 

“Probably won’t even be long before I’m cleared for duty again.” It was a bluff and they both knew it, but Emma couldn’t help but hope. If her memory was as it should be, then surely as soon as she was physically able, she could go back to the Sheriff’s office. “I can’t believe I had a week long hallucination.”

The words tasted bitter in her throat and she let her head drop down to hit the counter with a small, careful thud, wary of the dull ache that was still ever present under the scar. 

“Please tell me I didn’t really walk into Regina’s house and grope her?”

Mary Margaret bit her lip. 

“I would if I could…”

Her grimace was matched on her roommate’s face and for a second they both winced, before a light laughter echoed around the room. 

“Oh, Emma.” Mary Margaret sighed. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Guilt flushed through her system and she swallowed to bite it all back. Emma could not quite look her in the face, could not let her eyes linger over the familiar lines and curves of the woman’s face. Her first friend in Storybrooke. 

“I’m sorry, for everything I put you through, I’m…”

But she never got to finish. Mary Margaret had carried her bags in and then rounded the bench to stand right in front of her. 

“Don’t you even finish that sentence, Emma Swan, I won’t hear it. It wasn’t your fault!”

***

There was a perfectly plumped cushion at her back, condensation beading on a glass of water on the little stand near the sofa she was sitting on, a plate of sandwiches sat next to it, and a thick woollen blanket covered her knees and wrapped around her legs. 

“Do you need anything else?” Henry practically begged her as he bounced on his toes. “Anything you want!”

Emma smiled. 

“No.” She could not stop herself looking at him, her _son_ , the word came to her like a wave of warm emotion, the disbelief that anyone connected to her could turn out so thoughtful and adoring and wonderful and smart. “You’ve done everything, really. But I do want to talk.”

She patted the empty space on the sofa next to her. 

He quirked his head to the left, ear pricked up, curiosity sparked clearly in his eyes. His intelligence was both a gift and a curse. It had driven him to dig and dig until he’d fixated on that book, that idea of the curse, had thrown him off the cliff from blissful ignorant childhood into a confused and near angry preteen, resentful of Regina and greedy for the world he deemed fair. 

“About your book.”

His face fell immediately and he paused mid sit, hovering just off the sofa cushion, and she could see the reluctance on his face warring with the hunger he had to find an active listener for that very subject. 

“No.” It came out like a blast of restricted air being let loose as he fell the last few inches into the seat. “I don’t want to talk about the book, Emma.”

She reached out to take his hand.

“Henry…”

“No!” The hand slipped away from her, quick and harsh, and she drew her own hand back as if burned. “My mom was right! That book hurt you, it put you in the hospital, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Emma sighed and closed her eyes. 

“You were right, Mary Margaret too. I was pretty sick when I couldn’t remember anything and you talking about the book would have just confused me more, but Henry, I remember now. I remember everything we’ve talked about, even the book and the fairy tales and who you think I am.”

He looked at her with wide, wary eyes and she could see the hesitation waver in his chin. 

“It can’t hurt me now.” She told him like a promise. “Okay?”

“Then why?” Cocking his head to the left, Henry raised his brow at her. “Why do you want to talk about it now?”

There were so many things she could tell him. About having her entire view of the world shift and change in front of her, about having her own sense of self stripped down and re-examined, having to build herself up from scratch and taking stock of what she had and hadn’t done with her life. 

“Because it’s important to you.” Was her answer. “Which makes it important to me.”

In the back of her brain, to the bitter teen Emma that would never let go, it sounded like a cliché crock of stock parental bullshit. But maybe, underneath all the trite sayings she had heard, maybe there had been some truth to them, because she meant what she had said. 

Doubt swam in his eyes, but he gave a half smile anyway. 

“What do you want to know?”

“That curse.” She began. “How does it work?”

***

_Regina knelt on the plush carpet and clapped her hands._

_In front of her, chubby little Henry grinned and clapped his little fists together. He sat upright, completely in love with his newfound perspective of being vertical. A brightly colored ball sat between them and Regina reached out to walk her fingers over the top, drawing it closer to herself._

_He reached out and gave a soft huff of disappointment before looking up expectantly._

_“Not this time.” Her voice was warm, but firm. “You can do it.”_

_A gust of wind drove a particularly loud sheet of rain against the window and Regina spared a quick glance at the clock. She wasn’t worried, not at all; Regina Mils did not get worried._

_The intensity and concentration on his face floored her for a moment. It was the same one she saw often on Emma. The longer that woman stayed, the more Regina found herself watching her._

_Henry reached out with both hands and heavily planted them on the floor. Regina bit her lip, silently urging him on as she tempted him further by nudging the ball just out of his reach. With one big inhalation, he launched himself with a lurch onto all fours. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him rock back and forth._

_She released it the following second when he face planted with a small harrumph of disappointment._

_“Good try, baby.” Reaching out, she ran her fingers in a soft caress between his shoulder blades and along his spine. “You’ll get there.”_

_His bottom lip pouched as he pushed himself back up to sitting. Regina rolled the ball to him as a reward._

_A flash of lightning flickered through the window and she could not stop herself glancing up again._

_Emma was over two hours late. It was not like her and it was not like Regina to worry. Especially given the thunderstorm rolling outside. The infuriating creature insisted on walking everywhere in town and had probably gotten herself stuck in the diner or under a shelter somewhere._

_“Come on.” She hummed, putting her hands out towards Henry, intent on picking him up, when a sudden crash made her jump. “Wait here, baby.”_

_He gurgled as he thumped his hands down on the ball and she was already dismissed as she jumped to her feet._

_“Emma?” She called out before she’d even reached the study door. “Is that you?”_

_“Ugh.” Came the succinct reply. “Who else would it be?”_

_Regina stopped still as she reached the foyer. Emma stood in the doorway completely drenched, her hair matted and straggled beside her face, her jacket and shirt sticking to her frame, and drops of water trickling down onto the tile._

_“Sorry.” Emma blushed as looked anywhere but at Regina. “I got caught at the diner, but I had to come home.”_

_Concern and worry flooded in her blood, and her own denial made it crystallise before she could stop it into frustration and irritation._

_“Then why didn’t you stay there?” She demanded. “You would have been dry at least.”_

_“No.” At this, Emma blushed. “You don’t get it, I _had_ to come home. I waited nearly two hours at Granny’s for the rain to stop, but I couldn’t wait anymore. It was too much. So I borrowed an umbrella and…”_

_If there was one thing Regina hated, it was being left out of some seemingly expected knowledge._

_“I don’t think waiting a few extra hours would have hurt. You surely weren’t fool enough to walk home in that storm? I’m sure Granny would not have minded you staying at the diner…”_

_“Regina.” Emma begged for understanding. “It _did_ hurt, you have no idea… I’m in agony…”_

_She felt like poor Henry when he could not decipher what was being asked of him by the nonsensical adults, her head fell to the side and she raised her brows in clear question. Sighing, Emma reached for Regina’s hand and pulled it close to her._

_“It’s been _two hours_.” She explained and then, without warning, shoved Regina’s hand part way into the top of her shirt. “Feel that.”_

_Closing her eyes, Regina was about to give into the impulse to just snatch her hand back and storm off, return to the study and Henry and close the door, leaving Emma to her insanity._

_But then she felt it and a gasp escaped her lips._

_“What…?”_

_The soft tissue at the top of Emma’s chest felt swollen and pebbled and hot, small nodules clearly outlined under the skin. It felt like a heated sack of large, hard marbles rolling at her touch. She could not stop herself and without thinking, her fingers pushed experimentally at one of the lumps. It physically hurt her to think about._

_And Emma apparently agreed, a small bitten back whimper sounded in her throat._

_“I need to pump.” She explained. “I couldn’t wait one more minute. I think I’m about to explode. I’m so glad I’m not one of those women who gets mastitis or something. This sucks.”_

_Regina blinked, horribly disturbed at the feel of the painful swelling under her fingers._

_“Uh…. Regina…?”_

_And then she realised that her hand was still partway down Emma’s top. Without her permission, Regina’s eyes fell downward to the strain of material in front of Emma’s swollen chest and she saw a small patch of wetness grow that had nothing to do with rain._

_“Yes.” She pulled her hand back, drawing it to her chest and wrapping it in her other hand. “Right. You should do that.”_

_“Okay.” If it was at all possible, Emma blushed even further, still unable to meet her eyes. “I’ll go now.”_

_Regina stood in the foyer, pretending not to watch the bedraggled creature flee up the stairs and behind her bedroom door, both of them drowning in awkwardness. It was nothing, almost a clinical medical condition, completely natural and absolutely nothing should be connected to it._

_But she could not get the image out of her mind, that heated flush of skin under her fingers, the soft silken feel of it on the surface before she’d felt the pain underneath._

_No, she berated herself, she was not going to think about Emma’s chest, engorged or otherwise._

_Absolutely not._

***

Regina hesitated in the doorway to Henry’s bedroom, hand on the frame, and watched the rise and fall of his torso under the covers. 

His back was to her and he hadn’t said anything, but she was certain he was still awake. A lifetime ago, she would not have hesitated to walk up to him, sit on the edge of his bed, and talk, run her hand over his arm, his neck, through his hair. 

The sobering reality, though, was that she knew she was unwelcome now. 

“Henry?” She spoke quietly, softly, giving him an out if he wanted it. “Are you awake?”

Silence answered her for a count of five, slow torturous waiting, and then he sighed before rolling onto his back and looking over at her. 

“What? Mom?”

No matter how many times it happened, no matter how she prepared herself, it still cut deeply. 

“I wanted to ask you how Emma was.” It should have been a question, a casually sincere query, but habit made her voice strained and tight and sounding false, she bit her lip and tried again. “You saw her earlier.”

Hardness glittered in his eyes as he watched her step into the room and approach the bed. 

“Like you care.”

Her sigh came out weary. 

“Henry, that’s not fair.” Just two short years earlier, Regina would put Henry to bed by lifting him completely off the ground and rocketing him into the sheets, relentlessly tickling his squirming body amid an avalanche of helpless giggles. Standing next to his bed now, Regina could not fathom reaching out to touch him. “I may not want to be Ms Swan’s best friend in the entire world, but that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned for her.”

She did not know what hurt worse, his constant casual dismissal of any and all love she tried to give him, or the easy belief he had that she was capable of all the awful things she had actually done. 

“You’re lying.” Stubborn and confident and too close to bitter. “You wanted her gone as soon as she got here. You have to hate her, because she’s the saviour.”

Regina wanted to scream. That book again, that infernal tome of banished history that had been the cause of everything she had ever loved, everything good in her life, leaving. First Emma and then Henry. The worst part was that she really had nobody else to blame but herself. 

He had never been this direct with her before, having referred obliquely to his belief in her complete evilness, but never stating outright the entire assumed knowledge. This time was different, she could feel it. 

“Henry, please. Not that again.” If she had the choice, she would burn the book and anyone who tried to stand in her way. “Can we…? Can we please just start over? You and me?”

The confusion on his face spoke volumes and she suspected he was as unused to hearing the weary, quiet plea in her voice as she was used to making it. 

“Don’t you remember?” It came out like begging. “When you were little? We loved each other once, Henry… please?”

Hope rose like a balloon as she watched his face soften, watched a dozen fleeting memories cross over his features, and she could almost taste his approval once more. Almost. Then he blinked. And his face hardened again. Her balloon sunk. 

“It’s not going to change anything, Mom. Nothing changes here, that’s kinda the point.” 

“Oh.” She did not really trust herself to say anything more, barely even trusted herself to reach out and smooth her hand down the leg shaped lump under the blanket, the last vestige of her son. “Well, okay then. Goodnight Henry.”

She closed the door softly as she backed out of the room and could not seem to let go of the doorknob, standing still as she leaned her head against the wood and held her breath, trying to retain some of the molecules she had breathed in his room, something - anything shared. 

Halfway down the stairs, Regina heard a noise. Her ears pricked and her eyes flew to the door of her study. A light glowed and for a moment, a split second, she was scared. Then she inhaled and continued her way down. There was really only one person in all of Storybrooke who would let herself into the house. 

“Emma?”

Even as she called softly, she cursed herself and her weakness. So long, so many months had been spent cultivating a deliberate aloofness, a veneer of dislike and hostility, a further safeguard against giving in to her buried feelings. Calling Emma by her first name was the first step in a slippery slope that ended with begging the woman for forgiveness and to take her back. 

She bit her lip and corrected herself. 

“Ms Swan?” When she came into sight, Regina gasped, unable to stop herself. Emma was sitting not quite upright in the armchair, hunched over something in her lap, a glass in her hand that tinkled softly with ice. “How long have you been here?”

It could not have been that long, Regina had only been upstairs for half an hour. 

“Long enough.”

Those two words froze her, not from the content, but from the warm slur in the voice, that thick full sound of hurt in Emma’s voice. It threw her back to those final weeks, confrontational, broken, disillusioned Emma. 

“I s’pose I shouldn’t be drinking at all, huh?” Emma did not seem to notice her silence. “What with the meds I’m taking. Oh well.”

With a shrug of her shoulders, Emma took another swig of amber liquid and Regina winced. She could not seem to move, not even to walk over there and take the glass out of the woman’s hand before something happened that they would both regret. 

“What the hell, right?” And Emma looked straight into her eyes, sending a challenge that Regina felt somehow unable to take. “Did Henry tell you that I remembered?”

If her face looked anywhere near the way she felt, it was the giveaway that made Emma give a sad little chuckle and lean forward, placing the glass on the small side table next to her. 

“Yeah, my entire life before I came to this town. All twenty eight years. Boston, Phoenix, Tallahassee, Knoxville… the lot of it.”

It should have been a relief, but the news and the way it was delivered put Regina further on edge. 

“I remember both versions, actually.” Before Regina could form any kind of response, Emma seemed to shrug off that news as if it didn’t matter. “You ever been to Arizona, Regina? No? I have. I mean, all the stuff you hear about it, you expect it to be this hot, vast wasteland of desert, but it’s not really. Just a city, like another other city.”

The words were clear enough, but strung together too well not to have a purpose, a plan, and the longer it took to get there, the tighter the muscles pulling Regina’s spine in tight became. 

“But you’re still surrounded by dryness and this all-encompassing layer of dust that skirts the edges and sticks to your fingerprints.” At this, Emma bit her lip, her eyes fell down before rising again. “You wanna know what I remember most about Arizona, Regina?”

No, no Regina did not think she did. 

“My ex.” Emma continued regardless. “He used to yell a lot, loud ugly screaming you know, and that was ok most of the time. But he hit me, just once. I left, wasn’t gonna hang around for more of that, no siree, not Emma Swan. “

This was fast heading into dangerous territory and Regina wished she could move, either to turn back to stairs and go back to Henry’s silent and bitter hatred, or go forward and stop Emma’s diatribe. 

“I left.” Emma’s voice had deepened even further and Regina recognised this as a warning sign, the imminent danger to come. “But he didn’t agree with that, not so much. I had to move around a lot. I ran, Regina, I moved around a lot trying to get away from him. I spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder because of that man, pretty much only kept to one night stands after that. I’ve been so fucking lonely all these years, Regina.”

Without her knowledge or her permission, Regina’s arms had found their way around her waist to clutch tightly as she hugged herself, trying to hold herself still as Emma proceeded to fall apart in front of her. Emma was close to crying, she could tell. 

And this was all leading up to something that Regina could not control, she felt the tension ratchet up, like the force of a cartoon snowball that starts small and ends up swallowing people and houses all the way down the hill.

“And I keep thinking how bad does one person have to be, how awful and unlikable and unworthy do they have to be for someone to live with them for nine years and then just erase them from their lives completely?”

Any and all possibility Regina had of responding disappeared and she felt her throat close up and her skin tighten, even as her pulse began to race and her blood thundered through her ears. 

“All the good times, the memories all of it gone, just to give them a sucky history like that. I mean, what kind of ultimate fuck up would I have had to been for you to do that?”

A sound escaped Regina’s throat, too close to a whimper. 

“You’re not thinking straight…”

But it was too feeble an attempt, too little too late and even Emma recognised it as she raised her eyebrows in question and revealed the book that had been in her lap. Henry’s book. At one point in another history, it had been Emma’s. 

“So look me in the eye, Regina, look me in the eye and tell me you’re not this fucking Queen in Henry’s book. Tell me, please? Because if you’re not, then you wouldn’t have done that, you wouldn’t have stolen me from my son, from you.” At this, Emma’s voice cracked. “Please? Can you just, please, Regina? Tell me you didn’t throw me to the wolves just to be rid of me?”

And Regina looked at this crumpled woman begging for the biggest lie of all. She felt nothing but tired in that moment. Weary. Defeated. Henry was right. 

She thought of her son upstairs, his preteen heart full of a bitterness he didn’t understand himself, who acted like a child of divorce blaming one parent for the other leaving without knowing how close to the truth that was. She thought of his conviction, his innate knowledge that nothing in this town would change unless she allowed it to. 

She thought of magic having a price and how everything she had ever done to protect or ensure her happiness had only caused her destruction instead. 

It was time and she knew it and she was too tired to stop it.

Be what may.

“I can’t.” 

***

... end chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was scared, Emma.”
> 
> The sound of Emma’s chair screeching across the floor and hitting the wall behind her echoed through the office. Regina flinched at the fury in the woman’s face. 
> 
> “You were scared? You were fucking _scared_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is absolutely no excuse for the length of time between posting. Personal issues got in the way. I am sorry for this. Please forgive me. 
> 
> Also... please forgive me for this chapter. You know what they say, things have to get darker before the dawn? They DO say that, right? Right? Um... well, *I* am saying that for now.

***

Emma shut down. 

There was no other way to explain it. 

It was one thing to wake up in the hospital with two separate lives in her head, to remember all the conversations in this life she’d had with Henry about this book and the curse, and then to piece together the horrifying idea. But it was a completely different thing to have Regina confirm it. 

A small part of her had hoped Regina would laugh, call her the idiot she was, and throw her out of the house. 

Her limbs curled inwards, feet stepping up on the sofa underneath her as her arms shrunk into her waist, she felt her spine curve down and found herself in a hunched little ball. The biggest hint to the severity of the situation was the lack of Regina’s protests about Emma’s shoes on the couch. 

“Emma?” The voice came shaky and Emma hated that she knew it, could recognize inside it a decade of familiarity. “Please say something?”

Familiarity that meant less than nothing now. 

She could not fathom allowing Regina to get closer to her, could not even imagine the touch of hot skin on hers. She did not know what she would do if Regina reached out, but she knew it would be unpleasant. Automatically, she jumped off the couch and backed away, heading towards the door.

The silence was heavy in the air between them, pregnant with too many awful things. 

“What did I do?” When she did look up and meet Regina’s eyes, she met the pity and abject horror in the other woman’s face. “What did I do that was so wrong?”

Regina opened her mouth, but nothing came out as she shook her head, helpless. 

“Why did you do that to me?”

“No.” Hands out, placating, it was the most fragile she had ever seen Regina. “Not to you, Emma, please. No, it wasn’t like that. I…”

“Bullshit!” The anger rose higher than the grief in that moment as the competing memories vied for attention, beggared comparison and caused bile to swill sickeningly in her stomach. “You took away everything good in my life! You knew, you knew my history, god, you knew. And you took… my family… the only… and you threw me away! Like everyone else!”

“I saved you!” Regina surged forward and Emma stepped back with a stumble. In that moment, the energy and momentum seemed to fall away from her and she deflated in front of Emma’s eyes. “Please, let’s talk about this…?”

But Emma couldn’t. 

Her hand found the door knob behind her without conscious thought, the shape hauntingly and horrifyingly familiar in a way it hadn’t been a week ago. 

“I need…” So many things, Emma thought, too many to understand or vocalise or even think about. “… to go.”

Then Emma did what she had been implanted to do, what Regina had created as an impulse in her fabricated self. 

Emma ran. 

***

Mary Margaret looked at her watch and frowned. 

The papers in front of her were graded, she had just marked the last one, written an encouraging remark in red pen coupled with a smiling face. She made a point of only ever giving positive feedback, it garnered more of an effort from the children. The proof of that was in the painstakingly careful lettering of each assignment, the care they took to be precise and pleasing. 

But tonight she was more than a little distracted. 

Emma was late. 

Not that they had an agreed time for the woman to be home, she was an adult after all, but logic dictated that a simple conversation would have been finished with plenty of time for Emma to be home already. All sorts of catastrophes entered her head, slowly growing in intensity until all she could imagine was Emma having a sudden brain haemorrhage on the way home and bleeding out in the street as an unforeseen complication of her injuries. 

The sudden clang of the door made her jump and, a second later, the sight of Emma’s red jacket shuffling through made her breathe again. 

“Emma!” It came out rushed and relieved and just a fraction too accusatory. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

Silence followed for a count of five before Emma turned around with the sound of a loud exhalation and an almost guilty expression on her face. 

“… Mary Margaret?”

She sounded upset. Her voice was thick and scratchy and drunk and, if she did not know Emma any better, sounded as if the woman had been crying. She did not look much better. 

“Emma, where were you?” She could not stop herself from asking again. “Are you alright?”

As she stepped forward, a hand already out to check temperature and just _feel_ Emma under her hand, a solid reassurance that she was really there, Emma pulled back, her arms coming in close to her torso. 

“No… don’t. I’m fine.” Another small count in which Mary Margaret watched Emma’s deliberate inhalation and exhalation. “Can we just not do this, right now? Can you not be so… nice?”

She frowned as her hand came back down to rest at her side. 

“You don’t want me to be nice?” Her head quirked to the side. “Have you been drinking? Emma, you know what Dr Whale said…”

A small whimper of frustration stopped her mid-sentence. 

“Goddammit, Mary Margaret! I just said… look… Can we just be friends right now?”

She turned to the counter to hide the puzzled frown, busying herself by filling the kettle with water. 

“I don’t understand. You want us to be friends, but you don’t want me to be nice?”

“No… I don’t…”

Emma was jerky and twitchy and uncomfortable. She hesitated and Snow could tell she desperately wanted to say something, but she knew if she pushed it too hard, Emma would close up and they would never get to the end of it. Sometimes it was better to stand back and just let Emma get there in her own time. 

“Henry’s book was right.” Came the heavy words, thudding like rocks. “You would have been a great Mom.”

And then Emma walked past her straight to her bedroom and closed the door. 

***

_Regina parked the stroller on the porch beside the door, her right foot finding the brakes easily as she clicked them into place and then unbuckled her son from his seat. He was tired after such a long day and did not even blink as her hands slid underneath his arm pits and hoisted him up to the left side of her body. His head lolled on his neck until it found a comfortable position nestled into the crook of her shoulder, his limbs hung loosely in her left arm as it wrapped around his body and supported the back of his head._

_“Wait until you actually have to walk to the park.” She murmured into his ear. “You still have it easy.”_

_He only snored a muffled little breath in reply, but it was enough to make her smile._

_Maneuvering her way through the front door one handed, depositing her keys, then walking up the stairs and into the nursery, laying him down softly and covering him up without actually waking him was second nature to her now._

_She had learned to do a lot of things one handed, cradling her son in the other._

_“You missed a nice outing, Emma.” Regina announced as she entered the kitchen. “The weather was quite lovely.”_

_Seated at the table with papers strewn out in front of her, a pen in her hand as she took notes, Emma merely grunted._

_“He try to eat the sand again?”_

_“No.” She defended immediately, instinctually, before relenting with a wry grin. “I avoided the sandpit altogether. It’s unsanitary, really.”_

_The familiarity, the closeness of the entire scene was almost overwhelming, underscored by the amused little huff of breath coming from the woman before her. A scant eight months ago she could not have imagined sharing this with anyone. In all the imaginings she had, all the dreams and preparation before Henry had arrived, she had pictured only herself and a child. She had known herself too well not to know the jealousy and possessiveness she would no doubt show._

_But just then, chatting in the kitchen with a teenaged parolee, and making jokes no less, Regina would not have changed a thing._

_They had grown more comfortable after Emma had agreed to stay on, after Regina had made the offer. It was absurd and it made no sense, but she was entirely too comfortable around the woman and was pretty secure in the knowledge that Emma was happy with the arrangement as well._

_She could not imagine it any other way._

_“Look at this!” Emma shuffled the papers in front of her, breaking through Regina’s thought process. “I finally found something.”_

_Regina blinked, confused at the newspaper advertisements circled and the hastily scribbled notes on several pieces of paper, in Emma’s messy hand, next to phone numbers._

_“Found what?”_

_Then Emma looked up at her with shining, excited eyes and Regina felt a stab of fear._

_“A career.” Emma breathed the words like they were precious. “Something to do. I can finally earn my way around here.”_

_“You don’t need to do anything.” The words came automatically, a reassurance, the idea preposterous in Regina’s mind. “I've already told you.”_

_There was nothing in Storybrooke for Emma to do, Regina knew that. Certainly nothing that would have taken the effort or planning that Emma had obviously put forth into planning. Which meant only that she would leave._

_People did not leave Storybrooke. That was unwritten law. Regina knew, of course, why that was. She also knew that perhaps she herself could leave if the occasion warranted it. But she saw no reason to test that theory, felt the small eddies of panic shift in her belly at the thought of stepping outside the well-controlled bubble that Storybrooke was._

_Emma sighed and waved a hand in casual annoyance, brushing Regina’s words out of the air._

_“I’m going to do something.” She insisted. “And I’m qualified for basically nothing.”_

_The words would have been defeatist and cynical, had her eyes not been alight and her cheeks flushed._

_“I mean… I have a very specific skill set which involves running away from the law, because most of my real talents involve doing things sure to get me arrested.”_

_“Emma…”_

_She tried to intervene, but it was obviously no use._

_“But I saw this ad and I knew, look!” Emma waved the newspaper clipping at her. “Bail bondsperson! What better job than using my knowledge of how to escape the law to trap other people trying to run?”_

_It was circular logic at its finest, but Regina did not have the heart to deflate Emma’s balloon just then._

_“I mean,” The girl shrugged, casually brushing off the sudden insecurity in her eyes. “You have to go through the certification course and get a gun licence and I don’t know about the police check, but I’ve almost finished my time, right? I can do that? Don’t you think?”_

_For a brief second, Regina wanted to scream no. No, of course Emma could not do that. She could not go and train to do a job that would obviously take her away from the house, from Henry, from…_

_But she looked again, at the hooded eyes that stopped meeting hers, that were brimming with self-disappointment, at the spread of eager handwriting in the notes, at the way Emma’s fingers tapped nervously on the table. And the smell of hope in the air._

_“Of course you can.” She agreed smoothly and gestured to the table. “It seems like you’ve done a lot of research.”_

_Emma’s shoulders sagged in relief and the corners of her lips lifted in a grateful smile._

_“Yeah.” She said. “It costs a bit of money to get all the qualifications, but I’ve already talked to Granny and she said I could work shifts at the diner to save up. I know you don’t like the idea of me working there, but it’s the only place with casual work around here and I’m not pumping half as much now that Henry is eating solids.”_

_Already Regina knew she had said the right thing, the ease with which Emma launched into her spiel told volumes about the time she must have spent practicing it, going over it in her head, needing at least one person to tell her she could do it._

_“Once I have enough saved up, I’m sure I won’t even need to pump at all. Then it’s a few weekends of training in Boston. I could totally go there by bus and back. I need to do something, you know? If I’m gonna stay here, I need to… do something.”_

_There was that elephant in the room again. The unspoken. The knowledge that both of them wanted Emma to stay and not always because of Henry. Regina was not quite sure that it was the wisest course of action she had ever undertaken. Emma was still technically under her duty of care, she was barely out of her teens, she was nowhere near what one would assume a responsible citizen to be._

_And yet she felt drawn to Emma in ways she could not explain. She enjoyed her company, she even went out of her way to court Emma’s time, not that she would admit it out loud. Sometimes, to her great shame, she even let her mind wonder about other possibilities, let her eyes seek out the curves in the clothes Emma’s body had begun to fill after months of healthy eating._

_Sometimes, to her greater shame, she was quite certain she saw the same in Emma’s eyes. It was Regina’s duty to stop it. She was the elder here, she was the responsible party, she should slam down any and all signs of familiarity and… heavens forbid… desire, between them._

_But she didn’t._

_And so they both danced that silent dance of treading around the issue and pretending they were cohabiting merely for the sake of Henry and not because they made each other smile._

_“Sometimes I look at Henry.” Emma continued, unaware of Regina’s thoughts. “And I… I don’t know, I just… I want to learn how to find people, you know?”_

_She didn’t say it and it wasn’t something they talked about often, but Regina knew._

_They’d had one or two late nights, both tired and exhausted, where the conversation had gone past Henry and touched into deeper, forbidden territory. Regina knew some of Emma’s history, enough to know she’d been an unhappy child in a bad situation her entire life and it all stemmed from being left by the side of the road. Emma knew Regina had an overly stern mother. She had accepted that knowledge with the sad, sympathetic nod of someone who knew what the code ‘overly stern’ meant ._

_They tried as hard as they could to pretend they were strangers merely sharing a house and the love of a baby, but they had begun to know each other much too well for that to hold up under pressure._

_She would support Emma as much as she could and if the time came when the woman actually did find the people she refused to admit she wanted to find, Regina would be there still._

***

Emma woke gritty and already groaning. 

She should not have had the cider. She should not have drunk anything, let alone so much, and then wilfully thrown herself on an emotional roller coaster with such rolling great heights. Her double life was confusing enough already without having to deal with a hangover. 

She sat up and immediately regretted it. 

Another reason she should not have drunk alcohol was that she had obviously missed her night time dose of painkillers. The throbbing in her head was a deep, rhythmic pounding she was sure could be heard outside of her body. It made the room shudder with her pulse, her vision thumping with her blood. 

The wound on her head was a closed and already much less of a crunchy scab than it had been, but it felt fresher than ever. 

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, listening hard for any movement in the apartment. It was silent and a quick look at her alarm clock assured her that Mary Margaret would already have left for school. A slight pang of guilt hit her and the second before she closed her eyes again, she saw a glass of water on the nightstand next to her morning dose. 

Her mother. 

Just one day after knowing the truth and she had already stumbled home drunk and then avoided the woman. There was no way she was going to be able to handle it on a long term basis, no way she could wake up every morning and look Mary Margaret straight in those big brown eyes and not burst out with the truth. 

She felt like shit. 

And all the woman had ever done for her, all the small wonderful things a friend would do, she would now never be able to see without the bitter knowledge of how they should have been there her entire life. 

Emma had just poured herself a mug of coffee when there was a knock on the door. It was too timid to be Regina, too soft, too… too short. She sighed as she peeked through the hole just to be sure and then opened the door to another conversation she wasn’t ready for. 

“Henry.”

His eyes glowed bright as they looked at her. 

“Emma! I know, I know, but Mom was so upset this morning I had to come see you.”

He was too clever for his own good. Of course he had read into the lingering emotions in the air, of course he had skipped class to come see her. 

“I’m okay.” But her right hand clenched into a fist that she held close to her chest with her left. “You don’t need to worry. You’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Emma.” It was a soft, indulgent sort of chiding. “I needed to make sure you were really alright. Something upset my mom and the only one that does that is you.”

It hurt, it stung and she had to bite her lip to stop the correction. Not Emma, no, but close. _Ma… Ma… Ma…_ He was hers, in a much more visceral way than she had believed a short time ago. Years stung behind her eyes and she wanted to reach out and touch him, run her forefinger through the almost untidy shock of hair at his forehead. 

Feel the warmth of his skin that would never change, that was the same temperature then as it was ten years ago. The same heated skin she would touch when he was drinking his bottle, the same brow that nestled into her neck as she rocked him to sleep. 

She wanted to tell him about the loneliness of those last few months in prison, after she had begun to show and they had separated her from the main crowd, all those times she had rubbed her belly like a magic lamp and talked to him because he’d been the only one that cared. Her only friend. 

The memory was crystal clear, that fear, that one nurse in the corner of her vision after ten long, painful hours ankle cuffed to the stirrups. It had not been the cool, calm faces of the doctor or primary nurse, but the face of panic, an open mouth and slight horror as she’d stared between Emma’s legs at the baby that Emma had yet to hear cry. _What’s wrong?_ She had begged, not quite understanding the white hot flash of panic and grief that had sliced her heart at the thought of that baby being dead, _why isn’t he…?_ But they had rushed the bundle out of the room and not given her a second thought. 

It was a quiet, soft voiced nurse come to help her clean up that had explained to her the baby’s distress, his operations. It had been the soft voiced nurse who had sat with her as the prison matron and a public attorney spouted different laws and subsections and warnings. The soft voiced nurse that had explained to her in simple words the offer on the table were she prepared to supply the needed milk. 

And it had been that soft voiced nurse that had snuck her into the NICU, reading the confusion and panic and disbelief in her eyes, because nothing ever went right for Emma and they had to be lying when they said the child that came from her was fine. She’d stood next to the humidicrib in the muted lights of the night time hospital, and reverently placed the palm of her hand over his tiny, reddened, wrinkled back. 

Hot, heated, leathery skin cooking under the UV lights, his eyes shielded by a padded bandage, impossibly skinny, twig arms and legs webbed by tubes and monitors. _You can change your mind_ , but Emma had known in that moment that the baby was far too precious to ever remain with her. 

It caught up in her throat as she looked at Henry then, grown impossibly tall and intelligent and sentient and handsome and every part of him Regina. 

The need to tell him. _I was here!_ It tasted bitter and acidic and fought hard to get out, _I loved you! You loved me! We were a family!_ But she bit it down. 

“I’m okay.” It was like an echo passing out of her mouth, the same words that shook and caused his head to lean sideways and his brows to rise questioningly. “Really, kid, we talked, that’s all. You are gonna give yourself a stroke with all these conspiracy theories.”

Her head ached with the knowledge of both her lives. And Henry, her Henry, the child she had loved and cradled and taught to ride a bike and built sandcastles with, Henry… he was already turning bitter and confused and sceptical. He already believed Regina was the Evil Queen without proof. 

She did not want to be the person to cement that in his head. Did not want to look him in the eye and tell him that, yes, Regina was really that evil, that she had done the things in his book, that she had done that to the both of them. 

She was angry and she was hurt and she was betrayed, but Regina was as much his mother as Emma was, and telling him the truth would only hurt him more. 

“Well.” It came out like a sigh at his hang dog look. “As long as you’re here, I’m already gonna get an earful. Wanna come in and make some hot chocolate?”

His grin hurt her heart. 

***

_Henry’s little fingers clutched at the hair at the nape of her neck as she swung him around._

_In a moment of pure abandon, a rare rare moment, Emma threw her head back and laughed. The radio was playing on the kitchen counter and for the first time since she had stepped foot in the house, she was awake before Regina. She had picked Henry up from his cot, changed him, fed him and had just begun making breakfast._

_In just one hour she would board the bus headed for Boston and had known for over a week just how early she would have to wake. She had expected to be upset, early mornings had never really been her thing, but instead she had found herself excited. In her spare moments, she had pored over Regina’s cookbooks and studied them, had planned and second guessed and planned again until she had everything in her head._

_Emma was going to cook Regina breakfast and surprise her._

_Dancing with Henry had not been part of the plan, but she had been in such a good mood and he had looked so desperate to join her that she had been unable to deny him as she’d plucked him from his high chair. It was strange and rare and fleeting, this feeling of happiness and freedom and security. She could not remember the last time she had not censored herself in front of another person._

_Only Henry, the little bug, could draw that out of her. She tickled his sides and grinned at his laughter, nuzzled her face into the side of his neck and inhaled the fresh, sweet scent of baby powder._

_“Mah!” The sound gurgled out of his mouth, a happy, delighted bubble. “Mahmmee!”_

_Emma stopped. She closed her eyes and held her breath for a count of two. Henry had been making deliberate sounds for weeks and they had been encouraging him with zeal to link them into purposeful words. And that, that had sounded far too close to Mommy to be anything but a cruel, cruel tease. Her arms automatically tightened their hold on him._

_“Did he…?”_

_Emma spun around to face the door, opening her eyes in time to see Henry reaching out, and her breath came back._

_“Yes!” She grinned. “He called you Mommy!”_

_The delighted grin on Regina’s face overtook any misgivings and she twisted her body to angle the baby towards the fast approaching woman. Regina kissed his face, heedless of the many times she had warned Emma not to smother him._

_“Say it again?” Regina pleaded to the small child. “Say Mommy!”_

_Emma sucked oxygen through her teeth as she waited, hoped, had to restrain herself trying to physically squeeze the words out of him._

_“Mahmee!”_

_The pride on his dimpled little face was only overshadowed by the glee in both Emma and Regina as their cooing reached a level as yet unheard of in the house. Regina fluttered against her, heedless of Emma’s limbs as she bent forward to nuzzle the face of her son._

_In that moment, Emma became intensely aware of the heat of Regina’s body, the closeness of her, the way it felt right, the way the weight of Regina’s hand on her lower back felt right. It felt right, it felt, it felt too right to be anything else._

_She could not lie to herself, had stopped trying months ago. Emma had slept with Neal and had a few sparing attempts at sticky fondling in the back seat of boys’ cars. She had never really allowed herself to look too long or too closely at women. Being different in the system was not a treasured accomplishment._

_But safe, secure in the house and comfortable in herself in a way she had never been before, Emma allowed herself to look. She admitted to herself just how much she liked looking at Regina. And Regina was beautiful, perfect really, mature and dark and tempting._

_Emma had tried to reel herself in, telling herself it was a silly crush, some stupid transference thing like the prison counsellor kept spouting off about in group therapy. So she had tried to stop looking at the slender neck and the hint of thigh above a skirt and the possibility of shapes and curves she should definitely not be looking at. Tried to see all the kindness and generosity as just that, a woman who had opened her house to a stranger and then became friends with her. Nothing else._

_In the kitchen, however, dizzy with joy and the rush of excitement, as she grinned with her new family, Emma could not ignore the sparks she felt. She could not ignore the dark, glossy hair under her face that bounced with smushy kissing noises as Regina smothered her son._

_She could not stop herself leaning forward and down just a little as Regina began stepping back._

_Their lips met in an awkward smudge of limp skin and even before Regina placed a hand on the front of her chest to push her away, Emma knew it was a mistake. Her shoulders fell immediately as panic began to spearhead through her entire body._

_“Sorry!” It came out like a belch, rude and uninvited and uncontrollable. “I’m so sorry!”_

_She did not need to see the dark glimmer of disapproval in Regina’s eyes to know how much things had just turned wrong. Her arms adjusted automatically, hefting Henry up and away from her body, towards his mother and the moment she was free of his weight, she kissed him on the head and ran up the stairs._

_Her door slammed shut behind her and she stared blankly at her room for several seconds, her breath coming hard and fast and painful out of her chest, trying to choke her._

_“Oh god.” She murmured, unable to say anything else. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”_

_The room – her room – was neat and tidy and, goddamnit, packed away. It hit her like a steam train. It had taken her three months to fully unpack here, three months before she didn’t have a bag waiting for emergencies, waiting to be shuffled out and away, waiting to run._

_It was the shortest time in her memory and she could not remember a time since she’d been about ten when she had completely felt at home enough to do that. She always had an out, she always had…_

_A soft knock made her jump._

_“Emma?” Even her voice was soft. “Emma, can I please talk to you?”_

_This was it, of course it was. Regina was going to tell her to leave. She didn’t even strictly need Emma anymore, anyway. Henry was eating enough solids, Emma was sure he could be moved to cow’s milk if they really wanted._

_Oh god, she was going to be sick._

_“It’s… It’s…” She had to stop and take a deep breath to get the words out. “It’s your house.”_

_Her body crumpled in then. She had forgotten, damn her, she had forgotten to keep that guard up. It was just a slap in the face, a reminder of her place. Regina’s house, Regina’s son, Regina’s life. Not Emma’s, never Emma’s._

_The door whispered its opening softly behind her and Emma shrank into herself, a subconsciously protective motion that made her smaller as she turned around._

_“I’m sorry.” It was always best to pre-empt things, try to make it easier. “I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again. It was a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll pack my bags; I’ll go, just… please…”_

_She did not even know what she was saying to the carpet at her feet. Please don’t send me away. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t…_

_“Emma.” Calm and collected, Regina sounded more worried than angry. “We need to talk. I think we should have talked earlier, but…”_

_Nervous, that was the edge that cut into her voice and Emma looked up to finally meet her eyes. Regina stood there sans Henry. She wasn’t angry or disgusted; in fact Regina Mills looked something that Emma had never seen her look before. She looked terrified._

_“We will talk, we will have that discussion, but first I need to say two things and then you need time to think about them, okay? Can you listen to me right now?”_

_Emma nodded, unable to do anything else._

_“Firstly, I thought we were over this.” At Emma’s confused expression, Regina inhaled and continued. “This panic you have, the fear that I am going to send you away for every perceived wrong doing. You need to learn to trust me, Emma. We live together, amid some strange circumstances I admit, but you are going to have to trust that when things go wrong, I am not going to throw you away like everyone else has. Do you understand that?”_

_She understood, she was not sure she could follow through, but she understood._

_“I promise you that if there’s a problem, we will work it out together. That’s what adults do.” After a pause, Regina wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Well, that’s what healthy adults do, despite your experience in the system. Can you work on that? Do you think we can get to a place where your first instinct isn’t going to fear me pushing you away?”_

_There was something so close and so cruel as to be hope sliding in her veins._

_“I want to.”_

_It came out whispered, unsure. Of course she wanted to. She had tried that her entire life, despite reality slapping her for it repeatedly. Regina nodded, seeming to understand the honesty in the sentence and the fact she could not hope for more._

_“Secondly,” and then her voice faltered, hesitated, and Emma quirked her head as she watched Regina deflate and sit delicately on the edge of her bed. “Stop apologizing. You didn’t misread things.”_

_Instinct made her shuffle closer and brave enough to sit next to Regina. The two of them taut and nervous and perched to run at a moment’s notice._

_“Emma.” Came the soft sigh next to her. “I have wanted to kiss you before now. I’ve tried to stop feeling this, I have, but…”_

_She let her hand drop between them, at the side of their thighs, and it found the soft skin of Regina’s hand. For a heated moment the two hands rested on each other, before Regina’s thumb began to swipe at the webbing between Emma’s thumb and forefinger and suddenly Emma could not breathe._

_“We can’t do this right now.” Regina’s words belied her actions and Emma closed her eyes as if to block them out. “You’re so young, Emma. I know you don’t feel that way, but you are. I want… I… What I want is greedy and selfish of me and if you knew what was good for you, Emma, you would leave.”_

_Her fingers flexed under Regina’s touch and she turned her hand so that her palm spread over Regina’s, their fingers slowly twined._

_“I don’t want to leave.” She whispered._

_And Regina sighed heavily._

_“I know. I don’t want you to, either. But if we do this, Emma, if we… if we were to pursue this, I’m not ready yet even if you are.” The words came like a bucket of cold water. “You are only months out of your teens. You are still technically under my legal ward. The last year has been nothing but an emotional roller coaster for both of us, but particularly you.”_

_Emma could not say anything, a thousand defenses sprang to her mind, ready to be argued and shouted and pointed out until she was blue in the face. But even as she simmered with the unfairness of it all, she knew speaking them would only underscore Regina’s point._

_“You say you want this, Emma, but… but if we were to do anything, I need to be one hundred percent sure this is your choice. Do you understand? I do not want any chance, even subconscious, of coercing you, of pressuring you or you feeling as though you owe me. I need this to be your choice.”_

_“I don’t.” She could not stop herself saying it. “I mean, you’ve been really great, Regina, but I don’t feel… obligated…”_

_The very thought grew large and sticky in her throat, a wave of nausea hitting her._

_“I know, I know.” Regina was quick to calm her. “But I need this time for me. Can you understand that? “_

_Teeth slipped out of her mouth to bite at her upper lip, but Emma nodded anyway, confusion running rampant in her head. Regina’s free hand came up and pushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. The tip of her fingernail teased lightly across Emma’s scalp._

_“I want you, Emma, don’t doubt that, but… we need time to be sure.” Their eyes met and Emma’s teeth slipped back into her mouth. “Take these next few months, go get your license, get a job, become more independent. When you have been released from the system, when you have found your footing in your career, when you… when you are completely free and if we both still want this, then we can try, okay?”_

_“I get it.” She understood, she did not like it, but she understood. “Okay.”_

_The air between them felt heavy and expectant and unfulfilled._

_“Just…”_

_Regina’s hand tightened behind Emma’s head and pulled her forward. This time when their lips met it felt right, Emma’s skin flushed as her mouth slid over full, wet lips and her nostrils breathed in the clean smelling skin of lotion and baby powder._

_Their clasped hands twitched against each other._

_It was a physical sound when Emma opened her mouth, Regina’s moan, Emma heard it and felt it running like a reverberation down her entire spine. The inside of her mouth tasted like toothpaste and she tried to remember, tried hard, why it had been such a bad idea in the first place._

_When Regina pulled back, her eyes were glassy and Emma was breathless._

_“… that’s how it’s done.”_

_Months, Emma thought to herself as the door closed and she was alone, she could do that. She could do anything now she knew Regina was not going to send her away, that Regina would never send her away._

***

Regina tried Mary Margaret first, Granny’s last, and everywhere she could think of in between. 

In the end, of course, the answer was blindingly obvious and she should have tried the Sheriff’s office first. Emma had yet to be cleared for driving, so she could not have gone far if she wanted to be alone. 

She let her heels fall on the tiled floor as she walked the hallway; one by one they clicked loudly. Usually it was about intimidation, those few moments of letting the other person stew in the knowledge of her approach. Today it was more about consideration; she wanted to give Emma plenty of warning. 

And there she was, Emma, sitting with her head in her hands, her back hunched over her desk. At Regina’s approach, she angled her face upwards, but kept the rest of herself slumped over. Their eyes met and Regina flinched. 

“Kinda defeats the purpose of me avoiding you, if you hunt me down.”

Her voice sounded raspy and dull, the sort of edge that came with a bout of crying. 

She wanted to go over there and pull Emma into an embrace, the sort she had not allowed herself to crave in way too long. She wanted to lift her nose slightly and berate her like she had been doing for too long. She wanted to lean back against the door and slide down until she could wrap her arms around her knees and just cry with her. 

“We need to talk.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, an impressive imitation of disbelief. 

“Haven’t lost your gift of the understatement, have you, Reggie?”

Her spine stiffened, but she refused to take the bait Emma was so obviously dangling in front of her. After a brief stand-off where Emma’s eyes challenged her to react, it became clear that Regina was not going to bite and Emma sighed. 

“Did you know?”

Regina blinked. 

“Did I know what?”

Emma bristled and rolled an annoyed eye up to glare at her again, under which she could see the tidal waves of hurt and betrayal. 

“When I first came here? When I stood in your kitchen, scared and afraid and you told me I could stay? When we first started…? God.” A shiver ran through Emma and she shook it off. “When you fucked me over and over in our bed, did you know who I was?”

The word slapped her in the face and Regina gasped. 

“No.” Glad at least to be able to be say it truthfully. “Not at first, not then, I didn’t know.”

There was perhaps five feet between them, but it might as well have been a divide of miles. 

“When?” Emma came hard and relentless. “When did you know?”

Fists clutching at each other, Regina held her arms in close to her torso as she leaned on the door jamb for support. Now, like every other question in the last two days, she had a choice and she could take the easy way out and make it more palatable for everyone. 

Or she could tell the complete truth and lose Emma forever. 

“When you turned twenty.” Came the answer and Regina exhaled, knowing that the gates had been opened and nothing but the full truth would suffice, consequences be damned. “You’d been with us for nearly two and a half years, we’d been together for nearly one and a half of those. I think you finally felt comfortable with me.”

She could see the film of memory slide over Emma’s eyes, could see her reliving that day as much as Regina was. 

“I took you to the diner.” The words choked out of Emma’s mouth, self-aware enough to recognize the moment of her damnation. “I… I showed you where I’d been found.”

Regina closed her eyes. 

“The date of your birth didn’t register to me. Millions of people had to be born on October 22. But when you took me to that diner, so close to Storybrooke as to be breathtaking, and told me you had been found there on the night of October 22, the very night of the very year I brought us all to this town…”

A pause. 

“You figured it out.” Emma’s voice was stony. “You figured out the woman you’d been sleeping with was the daughter of your sworn enemy. And what? You kept me around to make your revenge all the sweeter?”

It burst out of her chest without warning, hot and hard and vicious. 

“No!” She tried to reel it back in, tried to keep her calm, but it was too much and she opened her eyes. “I didn’t do anything with it, because I loved you, Emma.”

The smallest little smirk in the corner of Emma’s mouth was both surprising and painfully sad. 

“Loved.” The blonde pointed out. “Past tense.”

She was stuck, she was in limbo; she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. 

“I remember…” But Emma didn’t give her the chance, she continued in a voice too calm to be anything but deadly and dangerous. “… when I first began, when I was just a beginning bail bondsperson, back when all I chased were parking fines. I’d bring up my parents, about how I could learn to look for them too, and you would be so encouraging.”

Emma’s voice was thin with yearning and Regina was not sure what she missed the most: her parents or Regina’s support. Perhaps both and that was what cut, because she knew it would be a long time, if ever, before Emma believed she had not lost the latter. 

“You used to say I could do it, that it would only be a matter of time, and each new case I took, each time I got better and better you’d tell me it was a sign.” She knew what was coming, she’d been there, but she let Emma get the words out, waited for the hurt. “And then one day you stopped. You just stopped. I thought… dammit Regina, I thought you just stopped believing in me. That you were trying to save me the pain of failure.”

When Emma looked up, Regina knew she had not been prepared for the accusation in her eyes. 

“But now I know it’s because you knew my parents were five fucking blocks away! And you never told me!”

True, all true. 

Regina stepped back, to the right, until she felt the timid security of the wall at her back. The only danger came from within, from her own actions, and she was reaping the rewards. 

“I was scared, Emma.”

The sound of Emma’s chair screeching across the floor and hitting the wall behind her echoed through the office. Regina flinched at the fury in the woman’s face. 

“You were scared? You were fucking _scared_?”

“Yes!” She could not control herself even if she wanted to, the words burst out of her mouth, spurting up and out of her throat. “Yes, I was scared! You were the one supposed to break the entire curse! And I loved you!”

When she stepped forward, her hand reached out and actually seeing how it shook made her swallow. She took a breath, curled her fingers back into themselves, and tried to calm her voice, it dulled from yelling into a cracked form of pleading, begging Emma to understand as she bought her fist up to her chest. 

“You were in my house. You were the mother of my son. I couldn't live without you. And your entire purpose in life was to destroy me. Every day you were there was another day closer to the end of my life. I was scared; I was so scared I could barely see straight! And I still couldn't let you go or push you away."

They were close, closer than they had been since the truth had been revealed and Emma’s face was stony. 

“Well, you certainly found a way.”

Regina had to wonder if there was anything beyond begging, if there was something she could do, anything, to take that look from Emma’s face. 

“Please…”

But, it hurt her to think it, as if no time had passed at all, Emma seemed to know what she was thinking. 

“Undo it.” It came out like a challenge, complete with crossed arms and a combative stance. “You want to make this better? Give me back my son. Give me back to him.”

The impossible. Regina’s heart broke. 

“I can’t.” She wanted to swallow the words, crack them, make them hurt for the hardness they caused in Emma’s eyes. “There’s no magic here. There was never any magic here; that was the whole point. I used the last of it, it’s gone.”

Emma turned away and Regina flinched. 

“You don't think I wouldn't have done that already if I could, after everything changed and you were gone and I saw what it did to him? I'd change it in a minute if I could.”

It would be easy, so easy, to reach out and touch her, to place a hand on Emma’s back and offer comfort. But just like her son, Emma would not welcome her solace anymore. She had lost all rights to that. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please.” Regina Mills had been reduced to outright begging, a second away from tears. “Emma…”

Wavy curls flew as Emma spun around. 

“I see my parents every day. I live with my mother and I can’t even tell her. I finally found my parents and they loved me… they would probably still love me if they knew the truth…. And I still can’t tell them. Do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

As close as Regina was to tears, Emma was already there. She couldn’t stop it anymore, could not hold herself back, and she reached out. The second before her hand landed on a shoulder, Emma pulled back. 

It was more than just anger, it was a reflexive motion, Regina had seen it, that little flicker in Emma’s eyes. 

“Are you…?” She couldn’t ask, could not… even… imagine… “Emma, are you afraid of me?”

And when Emma looked up, Regina’s hope fell. 

“Shouldn’t I be? God, Regina, I did one thing – one thing! – you didn’t like and you erased my entire life! I still don’t even know what I did.” The fear had gone, crystalized into anger and determination. “So don’t worry, you can relax. I’m not going to break your curse. Who knows what you’d do to me, then? I’ll toe the party line, okay?”

“No.” Regina was out options, out of hope. She had begged, she had pleaded, she had apologised, and Emma was still justified in her anger. “I wouldn’t do that to you again, I promise, I would never…”

But Emma was past listening. 

“Your promises mean nothing anymore. But mine still do. I won’t break your curse, I won’t set an entire town against you, I couldn’t do that.”

Weakness was never her strong suit, but Regina was past caring. 

“Why?”

Emma looked her straight in the eyes. 

“Because I loved you.”

Emma had always aimed to cause the most damage. She would have made a great hunter. Her deadly accuracy was almost parallel to none, the way she could ferret out a person’s weakness and hit it every time. 

“Loved.” Regina whispered, barely getting the words out as she repeated them. “Past tense.”

But Emma revealed nothing as she shrugged. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll just… go about my day and do what I’ve been doing for the past six months, nobody will be the wiser. You win, okay? You win. I’ll be just like your other hostages in this town.”

It could not end that way, it just couldn’t. 

“Don’t do this, Emma, please. That’s not what I want, not for you…” _not for us_ “Is there any way to get through this?”

There was a pause as Emma looked away and Regina followed her gaze. 

No, even before Emma spoke, she knew. 

“Tell me.” Came the whisper, as they both looked at the jacket hanging heavily on the hook. A glaring accusation. “My answer to you depends on your answer to me, Regina, so tell me the truth about Graham.”

“I… I…” The words stuck in her throat. “I don’t think you want to hear…”

But Emma did not need to hear the end of that sentence and her shoulder nudged Regina out of the way as she hurried past. 

“I thought so.”

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Those people, they’re…” Emma gave a half-hearted swing of her arm towards the town, before bringing it in and letting it fall back to the drink in her other hand. “Mary Margaret is my _mother_. The woman I’ve wanted to know my entire life and now she’s this brain dead zombie who’s living out some sick groundhog day curse of yours. It’s awful, it’s sick, and I should be jumping straight in to fix her, to rescue them all and give them back their lives. It’s what I was made to do, right? I’m supposed to be this big hero? But I can’t and I have to look them in the face every single day and pretend I’m not this awful, weak person scared to do the right thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : Yeah, okay. There is no excuse for the time between chapters and I apologise. 
> 
> **A/N** : There is a slight warning here for m/f, including Emma. Very slight. It's, perhaps, three paragraphs and leads to nothing. Do not worry. Just hold your breath, it will be over quickly. I promise you. This chapter is breaking down barriers left, right and centre.

***

Emma was drunk. 

She was drunk and making bad choices with… with… she was fairly sure his name was Bobby. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t even his real name. He was probably Fairy Light Tinkle Bottom for all she knew. But that really wasn’t the point. The point was that she was drunk; very, very drunk and making some very, very bad choices. 

But, oh, they felt so good. 

“Jesus.” He murmured into the skin of her collarbone, hot and moist. “You’re so fucking hot.”

His hands began on her stomach, flattened over her rib cage and started to slide up. Emma couldn’t help but moan out loud as her right leg lifted, knee bent around his thigh allowing him to press against her further. 

The bar was dark and dingy and quiet for a Thursday night, but she didn’t care. It had alcohol, and damn fine alcohol at that for somewhere called The Rabbit Hole. Storybrooke. Jesus, these people were walking around brain dead, Regina could put up a blinking neon billboard and send engraved newsletters to the townspeople each month and they would still never realise the truth. 

Her fingers closed around the muscles of his biceps, feeling the defined bulge. God, he must work out, or have some sort of physical job. 

“You got a place, B… B… Buh…?”

Maybe it was Benny. Bobby. Brian?

She needed that. She needed to be fucked and hard and roughly, thrown against a wall and just… whatever it took to forget. Anything to forget. She needed to be touched, to be admired. The simple adoration in him was easy and uncomplicated and mutually beneficial. 

Use and be used. To get lost in blissful physicality, sex and need and release. 

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

But Emma could not even have that. 

He leapt away from her as if the molten heat under her skin had manifested on the outside, his face a mask of panic. Emma merely closed her eyes, hiding in the pseudo darkness for a count of five before opening them again and meeting Regina head on. 

She should have wilted under the pin pointed laser beams of those angry eyes, the glare that was disgust and disbelief and grief all mixed into one. But she didn’t. Instead, the feel of calmly leaning against the wall and raising an eyebrow as she knew very well her shirt hung open, unbuttoned all the way, her hair messed and her skin flushed. And her lips definitely swollen. That feeling was good. 

A challenge, a dare, it felt powerful, more than she had in days. 

“Minding my own business, _Regina_ , you should try it.”

Regina’s face turned red as she bit back whatever reply had come to her brain. She held up her hand, palm outwards and looked away, a clear dismissal as she looked to the nervous man standing next to them, hovering slightly, his mouth agape at the scene in front of him. 

Perfectly blood red nails clamped down on his shoulder as Regina smiled all the way to her back teeth but nowhere near her eyes.

“Go home, Billy.” Ah, yes, that was his name Emma thought as Regina gave her chilly order. “Go back to your garage and fix cars and don’t let me see you again until you learn the difference between fully consenting adults and someone drunk enough to make mistakes she’s going to regret. Do you understand?”

Her grip might have looked casual, but the wince on his face and the way his shirt wrinkled under the obvious pressure of her nails told a different story. He nodded and gave a brief, apologetic nod to Emma, before scampering away as fast as he could. 

“What the fuck, Regina?”

Emma was angry and frustrated and angry and… she could not even describe what she was with Regina right then. Looking at the woman, being angry at her, watching as her nostrils flared and she puffed up in righteous possessiveness, Emma should be more angry than turned on, but she had already been worked up and she couldn’t help it. 

There was a decade of memories that encouraged her. 

“I know you’re angry.” The sneer was back on Regina’s top lip. “But that is no excuse to lose any and all self-respect you claim to have. A bar, Emma? The seedy, back hallway of a bar? What exactly are you trying to do here?”

Injustice flared. 

“You don’t like this?” Emma struck a pose and then twirled around once, before settling back into a casual lean. “I am what you made me.”

Words flung with the definite intent to hurt. And they hit their mark; she could see it in the flare of Regina’s eyes before the woman waved her hand up and down to indicate the state she had found her. 

“I didn’t make you into this, Emma.”

She pushed herself off the wall, abdomen first, the flash of her belly bare and proud as it was followed by the rest of her, the material of her shirt flapping to the side like wings. 

“You sure about that?” It was odd and strange and rebellious, this feeling of not caring anymore. “Do you want to know the amount of drunken one night stands you put in my memory? The men and women I never bothered to learn their names?”

Regina gritted her teeth. 

“That didn’t actually happen.”

It made her grin, vicious and nasty and sloppily drunk as she stepped closer. 

“You sure about _that?_ You changed _reality_ , you changed history. You took away each and every memory we ever had together and you put strangers’ fingerprints all over me. So you don’t get to judge me for it.”

“I’m not judging…”

But Emma had already had enough. She sidestepped the woman familiar and different all at once. She should have been prepared for the hand that grasped the crook of her elbow and turned her around. She should have, but she wasn’t. 

“Don’t walk away from me, Emma. This is serious.”

The laughter came up and out by itself, an acidic gurgle of amusement. 

“It’s the very opposite of serious! Or do you not understand how drunken one night stands work?”

Irritation was only the mask, Emma could see the flood of emotion underneath, the ebb and flow of Regina’s anger and hurt and betrayal and something else, something a little bit sinister and tempting and addictive and damaging all at once.

Passion. 

They had always sparked off each other, whether it was fighting or loving or fucking, they intensified, creating an all-encompassing torrent of feeling. They were a team, best together, and they fed off each other in everything they did. 

“Put your shirt on.” Regina hissed, giving herself away. “People are beginning to look.”

Regina was right, Emma and… she was pretty sure Regina had called him Billy… had been hidden in the back hallway of The Rabbit Hole, but it wasn’t closed off and she and Regina had subsequently moved closer to the main room. 

More than one pair of eyes were moving up and down her bared torso. 

“I don’t care.” She flung back. “It’s your problem, you deal with it.”

Regina’s hands clenched. 

“At least do up your buttons, for goodness sakes.”

“You want the buttons on my shirt done up?” At Emma’s challenge, Regina nodded her assent, missing the danger cues, and Emma responded instantly. She tugged the shirt from her shoulders and threw it at the woman’s feet. “Then feel free! Knock yourself out.”

She used her momentum to stride forward, further into the main bar, in nothing but her boots, jeans and bra, the button of her jeans popped open and her chest heaving. 

“Emma! Don’t do this!”

“No!” She spun around and pointed one direct finger in Regina’s face. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! I’m a grown woman and if I wanted to walk around naked or go to bars and fuck twenty different guys and girls, you couldn’t stop me! Leave me alone, Regina!”

Still and calm and clutching Emma’s discarded shirt, Regina was at her deadliest, and only Emma was close enough to see the tremor underneath.

“I won’t let you do this to yourself. Not again.”

And Emma laughed, loud and ugly and bitter, the hot prickle of tears making themselves known in the corner of her eyes. 

“I don’t belong to you.”

The response came loud and unmistakable, heard by the entire bar. 

“Yes, you do!”

Silence. 

A dozen pairs of eyes looked desperately down to cups and glasses in front of them, immediately uncomfortable, while Emma and Regina stared at each other. The room darkened and narrowed down until Regina was all Emma could see. 

“Not anymore.” She said quietly. “You made sure of that.”

This time when she turned around there was no hand to pull her back and Emma could not understand the lump in her throat as she pulled the handle on the door and stepped out into the night air. The chill hit her sweat dampened body all at once and she figured that she’d be almost as good as sober by the time she walked back to Mary Margaret’s. 

Well, that would be awkward, but at least not any more so than any other time she had withered under her inability to play normal around her mother. 

Just as she was beginning to regret storming out of the bar semi clothed, already one block down the street, she heard the soft purr of a familiar engine slowing down next to her. 

“Emma.”

She shook her head. 

“I said leave me alone, Regina.”

Black metal slid into her side view, bumper first and rolling up into the main carriage. 

“Get in the car, Emma.”

The night air had woken her up, cleared her brain a little and calmed her down. The anger of the bar had deserted her and she was left with the empty desolation that had become her life. The very thing she had been trying to escape. 

“What part of me avoiding you, do you not understand? Please, help me explain it in words that will get through. I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want to see you. Stay away from me. Keep to yourself. I’d suggest a fifty yard minimum, but we work in the same building. Have I left anything out?”

There was no immediate response, save the opening of a car door. 

She could have run. Her boots were a hundred times more practical for this than Regina’s heels would ever be. She could easily have gained a strong enough lead to get away, but Emma found herself standing still, she watched as Regina stood from the car and came to stand in front of her. 

“If you’re angry at me, Emma, yell at me, fight with me, get back at me, but don’t do this to yourself. Don’t hurt yourself because I did something wrong.”

Emma’s mouth gaped. 

“It’s not about you!” When she finally found her words, they came out fast and uncontrolled. “I just needed someone to want me. Just once. For a little bit.”

Her right hand came up and pressed against her breastbone to underscore her point. 

“Me! I know it’s not real and as soon as it’s over he won’t even remember my name. But for just one hour, somebody might want me. Anybody!”

Regina stepped closer, her hand out, and Emma felt the touch on her abdomen like a brand, hot and sudden and painful. 

“I want you, Emma.”

Her breath choked her, stuck in her throat and pushed to get out, even as five fingers flattened above her belly button in a cruel and sick parody of the man Regina had chased away. When she gathered enough courage to look into her eyes, Emma’s breath flew out in one long gust. Regina’s pupils were darkened with lust and anger and jealousy. 

It was overwhelming, too much, and she wanted to both give in and run, run as fast and as far as she possibly could. In the midst of her inaction all she could manage was to bring her hand from her chest down to wrap around Regina’s wrist. Not pushing her away, but preventing her from moving one way or the other. 

They glared at each other, barely a foot between their faces. 

“I’ve always wanted you.”

But that was too much. 

“No, you haven’t.”

Reality slammed between them like a physical force and Emma actually took a step back, throwing Regina’s hand wide from her body. 

“I don’t think you understand how hard this is for me, Regina.” Even as she said the words, heartbroken eyes pleaded with hers and she had to grit her teeth. “I hate you and I love you, looking at you right now makes me sick and I want to forget the entire thing and just kiss you. I am so confused I can’t even see straight.”

“Emma…” Regina’s hand reached out again and Emma clutched her own hands in tight to her torso, pushing into her abdomen hard as her fists clenched. 

“You don’t even know how you look at me and god, I wish you could just stop. For once, just stop it!”

Regina let her head fall to the side. 

“How?” It sounded reluctant, as if she really didn’t want the answer. “How do I look at you?”

Her head rolled backwards as she looked up to the sky, unseeing, a never ending landscape of blackness and stars, all she felt was the sudden hot stinging of tears pushing through. The air did little to stop the flow. 

“With hope.” It came out like a thick swallow. “Like every single time might be the one I finally forgive you, get over this, as if you just have to wait a bit longer and everything will be okay. God, Regina, it’s like I’m trapped and you make me _want_ to forgive you and that’s almost as bad as… as…”

There would have been silence, a heavy hanging in the air that followed her outburst, if it hadn’t been for the struggled sound of her sobs, messy and bitten back, the fight to swallow them and pretend they weren’t there. She wished Regina would respond, she wished she would just go away and leave her to her misery in peace. 

“I’m sorry.” The words came quietly, almost too softly to be heard. “I’ll go now.”

Emma felt a soft material being pushed into her hands and closed her eyes as her fingers twisted into the warm shirt. She did not look towards the sound of heels on the path, the car door or the purring of the engine. Her ears counted down the scratch of tyres over gravel and Emma stood for several minutes in the still night air, clutching her shirt. 

Her shirt, with the scent of Regina clinging to it. 

***

_Regina woke to the sounds of tinny laughter crackling through the monitor. A high pitched giggling that could be nobody except her son. She stretched her arms and legs, reaching out as far as she could as her back arched, and let the warmth of the sound make her smile._

_Another voice joined her son’s._

_Emma. Regina smiled even further. The two of them were fast becoming partners in crime and it was beautiful to see. She slipped out from under the quilt and reached for her robe, draping it over her sleepwear easily. Her toes pressed into the plush carpet as she walked barefoot to the nursery._

_An unheard of lapse in etiquette. She could not remember once in her life where she had felt comfortable enough with another person to be seen in such a vulnerable state._

_The door was open and she leaned her shoulder against the frame, content to watch the scene in front of her. Emma had Henry on the change table, with his clothes off and wipes piling up next to him. They were laughing together and Emma had her back bent far down enough to blow raspberries on his fat little tummy. She watched his little legs kick in the air._

_“Mama!” He giggled in a high pitched squeal of babyhood._

_Regina could see the discomfort immediately in the straightening of Emma’s spine._

_“No, Kid. No… it’s Emma. Emmm-maaaaa.”_

_The syllables bled into each other, becoming a stream of air hissed through Emma’s mouth. It was a conversation she’d had several times with the child over the last week and Regina had seen Emma’s growing discomfort._

_“Mama!”  
“Shh, no. You’ll wake your Mommy and she’ll hear you and then she’ll get really mad at me.” Emma’s hand came out to poke gently at the little chest. “And we don’t want that, do we? We like it when she’s happy.”_

_Henry laughed and let his head fall to the side. In that moment, his eyes met hers._

_“Mommy!” He called it, excited to see her at last, someone to finally agree with him. “Mama?”_

_“No.” Emma insisted, almost guiltily as she pressed a hand to Henry’s chest to stabilise him as she turned around to face Regina. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”_

_But Regina just smiled._

_“Yes, Henry. Mama.”_

_She pretended not to see the disbelieving amazement on Emma’s face, pretended it was a day just like any other as she stepped forward and reached for the chest of drawers to pick out a little outfit for her son. Impossibly small jeans and a t-shirt with a cartoon frog on it._

_“Regina.” Her name was breathed out of Emma’s mouth in a tone of awe. “Have you been teaching him…?”_

_But the words didn’t come and she knew that Emma probably didn’t even have them._

_She was not blind; she knew how much Henry meant to Emma. Knew how much Emma meant to both Henry and herself. If the two of them did form the relationship they’d been dancing around, it only made sense. It had surprised her greatly when she’d first realised that it was what she’d wanted._

_To share Henry._

_“For several weeks now.” She handed the diaper to Emma casually. “I thought he’d never get it.”_

_Emma’s hands shook as she fastened the little tabs over his belly. Regina’s movements were quick and practiced and calm as she slid the t-shirt over his little head and began pulling his arms out through the sleeves._

_They worked so well together it was hard to remember a time when she’d been alone._

_“You are amazing.”_

_Regina turned her head to look. Emma was past the initial shock and had slid right into adoration. Her eyes sparkled clean and bright and her mouth split into a large grin, her cheeks flushed, and all Regina could do was look at those lips._

_Her breath caught in her throat._

_“It was easy.” And she was still surprised at how true that statement was. “You’re his mother as much as I am.”_

_Emma blinked quickly and sucked her lower lip under her teeth, she turned away from Regina to focus back on Henry as she slipped the little jeans up his legs. Regina could not stop herself as she stepped to the side, warm and soft and comfortable, coming to rest just behind Emma as she slipped her arms around the waist in front of her._

_“No matter what happens, that will never change.” The figure in her arms froze for a second, then relaxed and let herself be held. “But I want to share this with you, I want to…”_

_Emma let her head fall backwards to rest on Regina’s shoulder and it would have been easy for Regina to lean across and kiss her, press her lips against those next to her, taste the woman that tempted her constantly._

_“Me too.” Came Emma’s voice, cracked and vulnerable. “I want that too.”_

***

Henry dragged the spoon through his muesli. 

The silver bowl of it sat lightly on the top of the milk as he balanced it between his thumb and forefinger, a slight trick of balance before he let it sink deeper into the white liquid. He watched the flood of milk over the edge as it swirled, bringing with it flakes and raisins. 

His stomach sat heavy and thick, unwilling to digest anything. 

“Finish your breakfast, dear.”

He looked up to his mother as she stood across the table, her hands were pinning an earring in her right ear. 

“I want to see Emma.”

A casual observer might have missed the tremor of the hands at her ear before she lowered them, the way her face flattened out to hide the flinch that nearly took it over. But he was far from casual and he knew where to look. 

“Of course. Why don’t you set something up and let me know?”

He quirked his head to the side. 

“What if I said she was going to pick me up from school today?”

At any other time, that would be the point where she would dismiss him and explain in an overly concerned voice about appropriate times and schedules and that Ms Swan should clear things with her first. Of course, it was far from any other time. Henry had picked up on the tensions of the past week, he knew there was something going on and this just confirmed it. 

“Okay then.” His mother blinked and did not meet his eyes before she turned to pick up her briefcase. “Please make sure you finish all your homework.”

“And I want to have dinner with her.”

He could not help but push that limit. It caused a small tic in the side of her eye as she unsnapped the case on the bench and began rifling through whatever was in there, but she swallowed down whatever response had come to her and gave him a false smile. 

“What a good idea.”

Henry had just about had it. 

“Okay, Mom, what’s up?”

Her eyebrows rose. 

“I’m sorry? What do you mean, what is up?”

If there was anyone in town that could last in a staring contest with his mom, besides Emma, it was him. Not to mention the fact that she was squirming under his direct stare and the slight tilt of his head. 

“You never want me spending time with Emma. Something happened. What was it?”

For a moment, as she sighed and closed her eyes, he thought she would just brush him off. But then she lifted her lids and met him for the first time that morning. 

“You’re right. Ms Swan and I argued last week, unfortunately, but she did bring up some rather relevant points and I think it would be a good idea for you to spend more time with her.”

The explanation sat sour with him and it must have been obvious in his face. 

“You’re both acting weird.” He dropped the spoon altogether with a little clink as it settled in the pool of abandoned muesli and he stood to carry it to the sink. “And neither of you will tell me what happened.”

Her flash of interest was unmistakable. 

“She’s acting weird? How?”

Hunger. That’s what he saw and heard in her. She was hungry for news of Emma and weeks ago, when she was still injured and sick, he would not have questioned it. But Emma was mostly better now, she was back at work and driving and walking around, joking with him. 

“You never want her around me.” It came out more like an accusation than he meant it, but he couldn’t reign in the flash of jealousy and didn’t understand why. “And she just shuts down and won’t talk whenever I say your name. It’s weird. Ever since she fell, both of you have been acting weird.”

He couldn’t explain to her the depth of Emma’s strangeness. The way she used to claim Regina could never be the Evil Queen because fairy tales didn’t exist, but now wouldn’t talk of her at all and the one time she had, it had been to tell Henry that there was more to fairy tales than black and white and she would not listen to him badmouth his mother anymore. 

A noticeable flush coloured her cheeks. 

“Is that it?” He aimed straight for the gap in her armour. “Since she thought you guys were together? Did it freak you out?”

The colour faded instantly and Henry quirked his head. 

“Are you acting weird because she’s gay? You always tell me…”

But she cut him off mid-sentence. 

“Of course not, Henry, don’t be ridiculous.” The rebuke seemed to snap her straight back in control. “I’ve told you plenty enough times that it doesn’t matter about a person’s sexuality, you should realise by now that I stand by what I say.”

This time she did meet his eyes. 

“Things between Ms Swan and I are complicated right now.” At the sound of his sigh, her eyes flashed a warning and he kept quiet to let her continue. “And very confusing. I understand you want to know what’s going on, but I don’t even know and I don’t think she does either. When we have figured out what’s happening, we will explain it to you, okay? Until then, things might remain frustratingly outside the norm.”

It was the best he was going to get, he knew it, and after a few seconds of contemplation he realised that it was enough for now. 

“Alright.” He grumbled. “But can I still see her tonight?”

She pursed her lips and Henry wasn’t quite sure if it was with annoyance or amusement. Perhaps it was both. 

“Fine. But next time you need to ask me in advance, alright?”

***

Emma could not hide forever. At least not successfully. 

“Hey, Stranger.”

Mary Margaret smiled enthusiastically at her as she slowly edged her way into the main room and eased herself onto a stool. She eyed the pan on the stove that Mary Margaret was stirring. A garlicky meaty smell permeated the air. 

Spaghetti, it made her heart clench. Everything made her heart clench. 

“Hi.” She felt like an awkward school girl all over again. “How are…?”

“You feeling…?”

They both stopped at the same time. Emma felt the blush rise on her cheeks. 

This was her mother. This woman who, as far as Emma knew, might even be younger than her. She was her mother and didn’t know it. They had shared many nights over a drink, talking as roommates, creating a friendship bond that Emma had rarely known. And now, now she felt adrift. 

Her mother, who might have made this very meal for her a thousand times in her childhood. More. Who would have asked how she was every day and actually cared about the answer. Her mother, who would have bought her dresses and braided her hair and sang songs with her. 

And she could not even carry on a simple conversation. 

“Emma.” Mary Margaret flicked the stove off, put the spoon down, and turned to face her properly. “I’m worried about you. Are you sure you’re alright?”

No, she bit her lip, she wasn’t alright, she wasn’t alright at all and she wanted to forget the last month, she wanted to fall into this woman’s arms and feel her embrace, she wanted to sit down and ask question after question. 

But that would never happen. 

She didn’t remember who she was. She thought she was a middle school teacher in a small town, a quiet woman who was stoically cheerful and optimistic and guilty of adultery. Instead, she was a princess, a legendary fairy tale, the hero of her own story. A woman that Henry’s books described as fierce. 

And she would never know it, because her own daughter could not break the curse she was born to destroy. 

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I’m just… I don’t…”

An expectant pause sat between them. 

“Are you happy?”

She blurted it out without thought and immediately wanted to swallow the words back. 

“I guess.” Mary Margaret shrugged, the mild look of concern still on her face. “I never really thought about it much before.”

Emma closed her eyes. 

What a choice. If she broke the curse, she would be signing Regina’s death warrant, the woman that she loved no matter how much she’d been hurt by her. If she stood by and did nothing, the entire town, her parents, this woman, would continue drifting along in aimless mediocrity, never remembering who they were. Her mother would never know the man she couldn’t stay away from and blamed herself for loving was the love of her life, her husband, would never know the woman she lived with was the daughter she had apparently wanted so much. 

“Come on.” Mary Margaret’s forced cheerfulness brought her out of her reverie. “Let’s have some dinner and a girly night like we used to.”

The sparkle of hope in her eyes made Emma bite her lip, her guilt sinking deeper and deeper into her chest. 

***

The morning was a quiet one. Midweek and cold, people seemed to be staying in the comfort of their own warm houses and offices. They had a fairly steady stream of customers, but she was far from run off her feet. It was during a moment of peace, listlessly wiping a cloth over the counter behind the register, that Ruby heard the bell above the door. 

She looked up to see the Mayor walk in, her face pointed down as she shuffled up to the counter. The woman hadn’t been in the diner all week as far as Ruby could remember.

“Morning Regina!” The warmth in her voice was sincere. “Your usual today?”

The surprise in Regina’s eyes was obvious, though she was too polite to keep it there for long, her face springing back surprisingly quickly. 

“Yes Ms Lucas. To go, please.” 

Ruby frowned at the curt, dismissive attitude reminiscent of not so long ago. 

“Granny made some nice pastries today.” She tried again, this time a little more forced. “You want me to wrap one up for you?”

This time her face remained neutral, but Ruby saw the way Regina paused, frozen in indecision before she took a breath and actually met her eyes. Confusion swarmed. 

“Forgive me if I’m being too forward, Ms Lucas, but why are you still being nice to me?” 

The question was a sad one, entering Ruby’s brain like a sliver of understanding. At her lack of response, Regina continued. 

“I assume Sheriff Swan told you we’re no longer amicable.”

Of course. Emma had been the one to pull Ruby aside and ask her to be nicer to the Mayor, had asked Ruby why she feared the woman so much. When Ruby had been unable to give a proper answer beyond the fact that everyone had always done so, for as long as she could remember, Emma had pointed out how atrocious that was. 

And now that something had happened between them, Regina had automatically assumed Ruby and the entire town would return to their previous ways. It made her feel like a heel. 

“Just because Emma’s mad at you, doesn’t mean I am.” She shrugged. “Aren’t you sick of pretending to be above it all?”

Months ago, even weeks ago, Ruby would never have dared say something so inflammatory to The Regina Mills. But after making that first step, the casual niceties that cost her nothing but seemed to mean a lot to the woman who thawed over time, she felt more relaxed, more comfortable with her. 

And Regina, who once would have shredded her down and made her cringe in fear, actually considered her words. 

“Perhaps.” She sniffed. “Perhaps I will have a danish, Ms Lucas.”

Ruby grinned and rang up the order on the till. 

“She asks after you, too, you know.”

It was small, that little widening of Regina’s eyes, but she saw it. 

“And a hot chocolate with cinnamon, please.”

Ruby grinned even wider. 

***

_Emma could not stop talking._

_She held her left hand out, elbow straight, and supported it with her left. Her eyes stared down the line of her arms._

_“And then you have to brace yourself for the kickback.” Her voice was fast and breathy. “It looks small, but I tell you, those little pistols have a bite to them. And I can’t even tell you what it feels like to pull that trigger.”_

_She closed her eyes and remembered the snap blast of shooting at the gun range, training for her gun license. The power that shook her form and made her spine straighter in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Emma Swan liked shooting guns, she was good at it, and she wanted to continue doing it._

_Five hot fingers joined her upper arm and slipped down, sliding over the bump of her elbow, spreading out to cover the width of her forearm before slipping between the webbing of her hand. Emma shivered under it and bit her lip, suddenly going still._

_“Go on.” Deep and velvet, Regina’s voice purred in her ear. “Tell me more.”_

_Emma wanted to, she really wanted to, but her nervous system had begun backfiring. It was not the first time they had sat close or had accidentally on purpose touched the other in more of a caress than usual. They’d been building up to teasing in the last few weeks, had even kissed once or twice._

_But this… this was very different. Regina sat next to her on the sofa, legs aligned, and now with the added press of arm to arm, Regina’s body was pressed close to her side. Emma’s skin felt hot and clammy and she felt like she could pin point every single inch their bodies touched. Worse was the hot breath in her ear, streaming out over her neck._

_“Re…” She swallowed in one big nervous gulp. “Regina?”_

_She was aware of the goosebumps pimpling on her skin, the sudden ache of her nipples tightening, and a heavy thickness in her lower abdomen that could not be misunderstood._

_“Emma.” That voice came again and she had to open her eyes, feeling awkward with her arms still stretched out in firing position. “I’m sorry, but you’ve been gone for days this time. I missed you. I missed you and I’m…”_

_The words were swallowed back, but they didn’t need to be said. Nobody had ever been shy around her growing up and certainly not in the state homes or the prison cells. The ugly, crude word _horny_ flashed in big, bright neon letters in Emma’s brain, too unseemly for Regina to use she figured. _

_And it sent a frisson through her, a charge of something powerful and thick, more so than firing the pistols had done._

_It was less a decision than instinct to turn her head and the kiss that followed was strong and needy and delicious. Regina’s mouth was hot and wet and Emma dropped her arms to turn more fully towards her, wanted to take just as much as she was giving._

_“I missed…” It came out panted the moment she could break away, sucking breath in past her teeth. “I missed you, too.”_

_There, among her denim clad knees knocking against Regina’s stockinged ones, as her right hand came up to cup the side of Regina’s cheek, Emma felt that hot mouth latch onto her neck, felt a hand at her shoulder pushing her back._

_She let herself fall._

_Her left hand remained awkwardly squished between her hip and the sofa cushion, her right still on Regina’s cheek, and her body stilled as she felt the woman adjust above her, lean over her. Felt a hand slide down her shoulder and over the front of her breast._

_“Emma?” Regina pulled back, her pupils blown wide. “Are you okay?”_

_She nodded, she couldn’t do any more than that, muscles frozen in place._

_But Regina’s mouth quirked downwards._

_“Tell me the truth, Emma.”_

_The repetition of her name, the seriousness of Regina’s expression, the fact that she too had gone still over Emma’s body, it made her feel honest, brave in a moment she usually wouldn’t._

_“I’m fine. Really.” She gave a weak smile as proof, face reddening with embarrassment. “I just… I haven’t done this much and never, you know, with a woman.”_

_Something flickered across Regina’s face that scared her, that made her reach up and grab the woman’s arms, hold them still so she couldn’t pull further back than she already had, tried to keep her there._

_“It’s okay!” She insisted, beginning to panic just a little, afraid now. “I’m fine. You can do anything you want to me, I promise, it’s okay.”_

_But that was obviously the wrong thing to say, because Regina began to push back then, pulling out of Emma’s grasp and sliding off her, settling herself onto the empty sofa cushion and awkwardly patting herself down, fixing rumples in her dress, flattening her hair._

_“I’m sorry!” She couldn’t say it fast enough. “I’m trying to be good for you, I am.”_

_Bowing her head, Regina closed her eyes._

_“Emma.” She said it slowly, as if trying to calm herself as well. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I did. I shouldn’t have pushed. We agreed to take it slow. For this very reason.”_

_She scrambled up into a sitting position, close to but not touching Regina. All the heat in the air had chilled and it left her shivering for a completely different reason._

_“You need to understand.” Regina continued, before she could speak. “You did not do anything wrong here, but if we are going to work, you need to understand that I don’t want to do anything _to_ you, I want to do it _with_ you.”_

_Frustration flared._

_“I’m not a virgin.” She sounded petulant, even to herself, more the child that she assumed Regina saw her as than ever before. “I’ve had a kid, you know that.”_

_Regina’s eyes sparked angry for a second, hurt and confrontational._

_“Yes, congratulations, you’ve had sex with a man. A man that, I might remind you, abandoned you to his prison term. Forgive me if I assume he had less than your entire best interests at heart in the bedroom.”_

_Emma felt like screaming, like clenching her fists and stomping her feet, knowing all the while that it would just prove Regina’s point._

_“I said yes.” She insisted again. “I said yes, Regina, I wanted this. I trust you, okay?”_

_Regina reached out and took one of Emma’s hands in her own, her thumb began to rub light circles over the webbing there. It was comfort and ease and the smallest reassurance. Emma was gratified to feel the other woman’s fingers shake around her own, to know that this had affected Regina as it had her._

_“Then trust me in this.” With this, Regina leaned forward, bringing her face in close to Emma’s. “We are not ready for this yet. We’ve got all the time in the world to get there; we don’t need to rush it, okay?”_

_Without thinking, Emma leaned forward the last little bit, captured Regina’s mouth in another kiss. This one was softer, slower, an agreement.  
_

***

The wind had picked up by the time she reached the pier, but that wasn’t why she shivered. 

Regina let the sound of her heels announce her presence well before she reached the bench. The solitary figure sitting there, staring out into the choppy waves of the ocean did not move or turn her way. She chose to take that as permission to continue approaching. 

“I bought you a hot chocolate.”

She would not have been surprised to have that hot chocolate thrown back at her. With a sigh, however, Emma reached out a hand without looking up. Regina could not bite back the small glimmer of hope, but quickly squashed it as she remembered their last argument. 

“I’m not following you, I swear. It’s just…”

But there was nothing to say. Emma had been isolating herself from the entire town all week. She had been ignoring a large part of her Sheriff duties and sitting all the way out here, as if to distance herself without actually leaving. 

There were no words to say this, however, without looking as if she had been studying Emma, without pressuring her, without asking for something she had no right to ask for. 

“Sit down, Regina.” Emma’s voice was flat and empty; it cracked something in her to hear it. “It’s your town, after all.”

She could have chosen to sit on the same bench, still remain a respectable distance and yet have that forbidden closeness. Instead, she chose the bench to Emma’s left; it gave them both some distance and left Emma with the illusion of space. 

“I’m an awful person.”

Regina could not stop the small exclamation of surprise. 

“What? Emma, no!”

Her hands cupped around her hot chocolate for warmth, Emma seemed to have forgotten to lift the drink to her mouth. It sat squat in her hands, like a forgotten burden, hanging over the edge of her knees. Regina could not help but see the exaggerated curve of her back, the slump as she hung her head. 

“I can’t do it.”

It came out like a confession and Regina quirked her head. Years ago, she would have known what to do, would have known to wait without pushing, let Emma get it out the way she needed. But this Emma, this devastated, flat, unemotional Emma that had grown into her own away from Regina somewhat harder and tronger was one she was not familiar with, was one she was not sure she understood properly anymore.

“Do what?”

It came out like a surge of bitterness, a bubbled blurting noise out of Emma’s throat. 

“Anything!” Then she gave a sigh and her shoulders dropped again. “Break the curse, _not_ break the curse. Anything.”

“I’m so…”

“Don’t.” Emma was quick and firm in her response. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. You have no idea what I’m going through right now.”

That was true. She had her own truths and her own story, but it wasn’t Emma’s. She carefully sipped at her coffee for something to occupy her hands and her mouth, barely tasting it. 

“Those people, they’re…” Emma gave a half-hearted swing of her arm towards the town, before bringing it in and letting it fall back to the drink in her other hand. “Mary Margaret is my _mother_. The woman I’ve wanted to know my entire life and now she’s this brain dead zombie who’s living out some sick groundhog day curse of yours. You know I asked her if she was happy, Regina, and do you know what she said? She shrugged and said ‘I hadn’t thought about it before’. She hadn’t even _thought_ to ask if she was happy or not. It’s awful, it’s sick, and I should be jumping straight in to fix her, to rescue them all and give them back their lives. It’s what I was made to do, right? I’m supposed to be this big hero? But I can’t and I have to look them in the face every single day and pretend I’m not this awful, weak person scared to do the right thing.”

Regina couldn’t breathe over the lump in her throat. 

“You don’t _want_ to break the curse?”

The look Emma gave her was scathing. 

“And what happens to you if I do? Tell me that.”

She shook her head, unable to come up with a suitable answer, the truth would not do. 

“Tell me, Regina, what would happen if everyone got their memories back and became the fairy tale people they used to be? What would those people do to you for what you’ve done? What would be the proper sentence?”

It was a challenge, Emma’s voice, cracking only slightly as she pushed harder and harder. They both knew the answer. Even if she had never known that land, Emma already knew, Regina could tell. She was helpless to refuse and her response came out like a whisper, a confession. 

“Execution.”

A choked sob was cut off in the middle of Emma’s throat and it hurt Regina to hear it. 

“Yeah. I don’t really want to be responsible for that, then, do I?”

They were at an impasse and Regina squirmed in the silence. There were so many things she could say that should not be said. Eventually, the need to speak outweighed her need not to test the boundaries of this new phase of tense conversation. 

“What changed? Why are you talking to me?”

She wanted to take it back before the words had even left her mouth, but they came out anyway and she hated the weakness inherent in them. The need to control and to be seen as being in control, to dominate the space around her, it ached to rear its ugly head. 

Emma sighed. 

“Nothing changed. I’m still at the stage where I don’t even want to look at you. But you’re the only one I can speak to about this. I need to talk, I need… I have so many questions and nobody else remembers enough to answer them. So, you’re it.”

It was not an unexpected answer, but it stung just the same. Emma had not lied in their argument, Regina was waiting, hoping, praying for the moment of Emma’s forgiveness. But she knew it was not to be, not yet. 

“I owe you that much.” She did not miss the raising of Emma’s brow. “At the very least, that and so much more. But all I can give you right now is the truth. I’ll answer anything.”

It was a rare cart-blanche and they both knew it. Regina rarely gave such power away to anyone. 

“I’m still trying to come to terms with it.” 

She was taking it a lot better than she had last time, Regina thought but could not say out loud. It almost stung that this Emma was more capable than the one that had lived with her. As if she had made Emma weak, as if being with her had been bad for Emma. 

Regina supposed that was true. 

“Is Henry’s book real?” Emma’s voice cut through her thoughts. “I mean, is it accurate?”

She nodded. 

“It’s a little one sided, but as much as I’ve read of it, it’s true.”

Quick on the uptake and more rational this time around, Emma did not miss the most valid point. 

“One sided, Regina? Not your side, the book never tells your story. Why did you cast the curse?”

Regina shivered again and looked down to the half full coffee cup in her hand, it was her turn being unable to meet Emma’s eyes. 

“Sometimes I don’t even know myself.” But it was not an answer and Emma deserved more. “I was angry and bitter and no matter what I achieved, I always felt powerless. At the time I believed my only option to find any happiness at all would be at the total destruction of your mother.”

It was not easy to voice out loud. Several decades in a small, peaceful town with no danger, ten years with a son she loved completely in a way she never had the chance back in her land, nine years in a stable, loving relationship with Emma had changed her mind. Regina knew that happiness did not come at the vanquishing of her enemies, but at the acceptance of her life. 

“They had a protection spell to save them, it made it impossible for me to harm them in that land. My only option, were I to finally get revenge, was to bring them to another land.”

Emma’s fists tightened in the periphery of Regina’s vision. 

“At the time I believed I was in control. But I’ve had nearly three decades to remember and examine my life and I know I was more of a puppet than I realise. The curse was not even mine, I cast it but I did not create it.”

The words were difficult to come by, but surprisingly easy to speak. Not only did Emma deserve to hear them, it seemed Regina needed to say them. 

“Who did?”

“Rumplestiltskin. He not only gave me the curse, but he was instrumental in my adult life. He taught me magic and therefore he guided most of it.”

It seemed galling to her now, altogether too gullible and infuriatingly simple minded, not to have noticed the string pulling he had done behind most of her decisions, all the ideas he had planted and fertilized within her head. 

Emma nodded, though her face was blank. A sure sign that already the information had become too much. 

“Rumple…” Her voice petered out before returning. “The imp that made all the deals? Who would he… Mr Gold?”

She nodded. 

“Regina.” The horror in Emma’s voice made her look up. “I made a deal with him. I owe him a favour.”

It was impossible not to close her eyes, she let the lids fall so that she could look into the inky darkness of her brain. Emma owed that man a favour. 

“Unfortunate.” She eventually replied as she opened her eyes. “But we can work around that when the time comes.”

She’d spoken before she’d thought and they both tensed at the inclusive statement. We, not Emma, not Regina, but both of them. 

“But why were you so angry with Snow White?” Emma changed the subject, her brain obviously switching subject quicker than the conversation. “Surely it wasn’t just ‘cause she was prettier than you?”

It made her spine sit up straighter. That alone had been a bitter and difficult pill to swallow when she’d come to this land. The absolute mockery that they’d made of her and her story. 

“She betrayed me.” The words sounded hollow and meaningless, ill prepared to cover the total horror and pain and truth of it, the blood and death and terror, the hopelessness of her life. “She broke a promise to me and because of that, someone I loved was killed. My fiancé.”

Emma flinched again. 

“My future was stolen from me and I was forced to wed a man I didn’t love.”

This time Emma’s face did not flinch, it screwed up in thought before smoothing out in awkward revelation. 

“I didn’t even think about that.” She gasped. “You… you were married to my grandfather?”

Emma looked ready to vomit on the spot and Regina’s ramrod spine and clenched teeth were not far behind. 

But she had promised Emma the absolute truth. 

“I was never his _wife_. I was his property, his chattel, a pretty bauble to show off irrespective of my choice or will. Your grandfather was King and did not like the word no. I was a gift for his daughter and for him, nothing more. The day he died, I was glad to rid myself of any ties to him or Snow White. So if that's what you're worried about, you can relax.”

The words did seem to ease Emma’s expression slightly, but it was soon replaced by a different form of awkwardness. 

“Regina, did he…?”

But she did not get to finish the question. Regina’s tension could only go so far. 

“I offered you the truth, Emma, and I will tell you anything you like. I won’t lie to you again, I promise you that, but Emma… I will never speak of that man again. I’m not going to dwell on it and nor should you. Do you understand?”

They sat in silence for several more minutes and Regina could see a thousand questions form on Emma’s face. A thousand questions, but none asked. Until Emma gasped. 

“That’s why.” It was breathed out, an exhalation of understanding. “That’s why you made me wait, that’s why you wanted me to be older, to be sure of what I wanted.”

Regina could do little except nod. 

The pieces were there and she was more than certain Emma had already pieced them together to form an accurate picture. She was not going to bring up all that pain again. 

Emma spoke eventually. 

“I… I don’t know what to do with all of this.” 

Regina could only shrug. 

“I don’t think you do anything with it, really.”

Awkward. Everything was awkward and the only thing she wanted was to go back two years and do the entire thing again, never to have used Daniel’s ring to redo everyone’s memory, to have kept Emma with her as long as she could. 

“Would you do it again?”

The question surprised her and Emma took her silence for confusion. 

“If the curse was broken and you got magic back, would you go back to trying to kill Snow White?”

She might have answered straight away, but that would have been reflex and Emma would have seen through it immediately. She took the time to consider the question carefully. She still felt nothing but enmity and distaste towards the woman, but the pure seething hate was dulled. Just like her earlier thoughts, she knew that her life here had not only smoothed out the roughest of her urges, but had given her a vastly different perspective. 

“I do not believe so.”

Emma had hit the wall, Regina could see it in the straightening of her shoulders, the preparation of her muscles before standing. Her brain could not handle any more information, good or bad. The conversation was over and there were still so many things between them that needed airing. 

“I need some time to think.”

And Regina nodded. 

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

When Emma stood, she towered over Regina still on the seat. It was a position she loathed, hated, spent a great deal of energy manipulating situations so that she would not face it. But that very second, she let Emma have it, let the woman usurp the power. 

“I’ll try and be a better Sheriff.” Emma said. “Stop avoiding stuff, get back to the usual duty. In fact, I’ll do a patrol tonight, okay?”

“Thank you, Emma.”

It was not about the patrol and that was understood by both. 

***

If the rest of the world got a hold of the shit storm her life had become, she would be booked with nothing but appearances on Jerry Springer and Maury Povich. 

The tabloid headlines would go crazy. 

Emma sighed as she kicked the gravel of the road and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket. The familiarity she felt with the area made more sense now, now that she understood that she had actually spent nearly a decade here. That her memories were true. 

Two lives in her head. 

Archie’s words came back to her. She _did_ have two lives in her head. Two completely separate experiences that led her down very different paths. But she did not necessarily have to choose one to the exclusion of the other. She could take what she wanted from either life; become the person she wanted to be. 

She’d told Archie she didn’t like the hard, barrier ridden Emma who trusted no one. But she wasn’t sure she could become the trusting, happy creature that had lived her before. She wanted to trust people, but it was even harder now. Now that the one person she’d believed would never hurt her had done exactly that. 

In the worst possible way. 

So deep in thought was she, that she did not see the figure walking towards her. He must have been focused elsewhere as well. They collided in an unexpected slam that sent her back a step or two. Unfortunately for him, his steps back took him over an embankment and he tumbled in a frenzy of limbs and earphone wires. 

“Shit! Sorry.” She called out, stepping off the road and into the brush. “Are you okay?”

He rolled over and she got a look at him, dark features and a large grin as he sat up. 

“I’m good.” He assured her. “Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting anyone out this late.”

She nodded in agreement. 

“Tell me about it.”

He took her offered hand and pulled himself up to standing, but as soon as his weight was on both feet he gave a sharp cry of pain. 

“You’re not good.” She accused, already reaching for her cell. “Let me call someone.”

He waved her off. 

“No, no, it’s nothing. Just a sprain. I don’t live very far.” He gestured back down the road he’d come from. “Just a little ways there.”

Emma set her jaw in determination. 

“At least let me help you. My name’s Emma, I’m the sheriff.”

And he smiled at her as he grasped hold of her outstretched forearm and let her take some of his weight. 

“Hi Emma. I’m Jefferson.”

***

... to be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **\-- >**Yes, I understand the implication here is 'write fast or hide well', I will try to write as fast as I can, but I make no promises. 
> 
> **\-- >** To all those who leave comments, I thank you. I read and cherish them all, even if I do not respond. I've become much too slack about responding and will try to change. Thanks again!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I get it, you know. I get it. The storybook is real, I’m a princess from another land, the daughter of goddamned Snow White and Prince Charming, the mother of my son is the Evil Queen, Little Red Riding Hood serves us breakfast and we’re all trapped here. But there is no way I have any magic!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Been a while for this one. Never apologise, never explain. There you go. Life is hectic and I'm living it. One week past my estimated posting date, but it *is* being posted and that's the important thing. Plus, PLOT. There is PLOT moving forward here. 
> 
> This is a necessary kind of chapter to move things along and tie it back into the Season One storyline. Obviously, things are different: Regina is not setting MM up for murder (it would fool nobody at this point, least of all Emma who knows the truth). So things had to be adjusted accordingly. The rest of the season will be adjusted as well, to incorporate the difference in what is needed. 
> 
> Enjoy.

***

Emma woke confused. 

She could not remember how she’d gotten there. The last thing she remembered was running into a man and helping him home… and tea…

Her eyes flew open even as she struggled to sit up, instantly aware of her hands tied behind her back and the gag in her mouth. The realisation struck her almost at once, _he took off my jacket_ , but a quick scan of her body told her that the rest of her clothes remained untouched. 

It was a small mercy. 

She took a breath and tried to focus, tried to stop panicking long enough to take stock of her situation. She was bound and gagged and most definitely drugged, but she was alone in what she remembered to be his sitting room. 

The tea cup sat glaring and smug on the table where he must have placed it.

Everything in the room was white, too white; it hampered her ability to think. If only she hadn’t been distracted, if only she hadn’t let the comfort and safety of a small town blind her to obvious pitfalls. Bounty hunter, lone wolf Emma would never have fallen for…

An ugly laugh got caught in her throat. 

That Emma wasn’t even real. 

No. Small town, lazy sheriff Emma was real. And she was stuck as some crazy man’s hostage in a room with nothing but a piano, useless maps and a tea cup. 

She stared at the tea cup. Right. Yes. She might not be the person she’d thought she was, but she did have her memories and her skills. 

It took a little bit of manoeuvring, but she managed to drop the cup to the floor and cover it with a cushion. Her feet slammed down hard and she heard it shatter softly, the sound smothered. Some more manoeuvring and a few curse words, not to mention several scratches on her wrists, and her hands were free. 

She coughed as she pulled the gag from her mouth and then freed her ankles. 

There was nobody she knew, in either set of memories, who would want to kidnap her. That was little comfort, because there was no reason in any state of mind to kidnap a person that didn’t scream bad news. 

The only upside was that she was alone, as far as she could tell, and alone meant time to escape. A quick check of the windows told her they were nailed shut. He kept a telescope at one window and she regretted looking through it the second she saw the sheriff’s office in its sights. 

Great. 

She wasn’t some random victim; she was a target. 

She needed to get out of that room, out of that house, out of her entire life altogether. She almost wished for the now seemingly blissful ignorance she had lived under before her accident. 

As she edged towards the door, the only avenue for escape it seemed, Emma cursed the false feeling of security this town had afforded her, in both her lives. Not once had she investigated this far into the woods, the lack of any incidents calling her out there. She’d known in the back of her mind that there were residents that far out of town, but given that they preferred to stay isolated and caused no trouble, she’d been happy to let them be. 

Her breath grew hot in her throat and lungs as she held it in, not daring to let it escape for fear of making a sound as she edged the door from its jamb. A sharp rasping sound echoed through the hallway and her eyes were drawn to the man across the way. He was joyfully sharpening a pair of large scissors with his back to her and her spine chilled to ice at the sight. 

Out, out, out, out, out, her brain screamed at her. Just get out. 

She flattened her body against the wall, slithering out of the room and inching carefully away. The minute she felt secure enough that he hadn’t noticed her and that she was out of his range of sight, she turned and hurriedly tip toed towards the large door at the end that she assumed meant exit. 

Her hands grabbed the knob and twisted, but it did not turn and she tried to bite down on her disappointed groan. 

“Leaving so soon?”

His voice was right in her ear and Emma could not bite down on the small gasp of panic. The feel of cold metal against her skull made her shut her eyes tight. 

“Please.” Her hands shook as she raised them both in the air, a sign of submission. “Don’t hurt me.”

He laughed, deeply amused, and the sound did nothing to ease her terror. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Emma.” The sound of her name sounded like another nail in her coffin. “I need you.”

The gun shifted against her scalp and she winced as it hit the raised edge where her scab used to be. Either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care as his hand slid into the crook of her elbow and pulled her back. He leaned closer, all heat and intimidation in curve of her neck. 

“Now come, we have work to do.”

***

Emma stared unblinking at the mess of felt and scissors and patterns in front of her. 

“I’m sorry… what?”

She was entirely sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. There was no way she could have. Her eyes refused to close, scared that if she did she would open them to some other horror that made even less sense than whatever was going on now. 

“I want.” He seethed again. “You. To make. Me. A hat.”

Okay. So she had heard him right. The words still did not connect in her brain, did not come together to make any kind of understandable reality at all. She thought perhaps she had fallen in the woods and it was all a concussed hallucination. 

The last concussion broke through an entire spell. 

It made perfect sense that another one might completely rip away any shred of sanity she possibly had to begin with. 

“I don’t know how to make a hat.”

His right hand holding the gun slammed into the table next to her and she flinched, face holding the screwed up expression as her eyes finally closed and she tried to forget the glint of silver as it had echoed off the wood. The safety was off, she had noticed that much, and one wrong move on his part could be fatal. 

The darkness only seemed to heighten her senses and her breath caught in her throat as she felt his other hand land gently on her scalp, palm first and then fingers and thumb landing one by one like little spider legs. His chin sat heavy on top of them, too heavy it seemed, and he was all around her. 

She could feel him standing behind her chair, the front of him pressed against her spine. 

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was part threat and part conciliatory, a mixture that did nothing to calm her down at all. “All you need is right in here.”

To emphasise his words, his gunless left hand slid down the side of her neck, across her shoulder and down her arm, to lift her wrist and bring it up to tap her own hand against her chest. 

She wanted to run, she wanted to throw her head back and slam it into his face enough to knock him out and give her time to escape. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to do something. 

But he still held the gun. 

“You’ve been watching me. “ 

It came out like a statement, but it was a question. 

“Yes.” One he answered, like it was perfectly normal to admit to stalking someone. “Both of you.”

Emma blinked again. Her traitorous brain kept coming up with smartass answers she was also sure were a quick way to get shot. There were a lot of times in her bail bondsperson role, both of them although admittedly one wasn’t real, that her mark had teetered on the edge of sanity or violence and she had learned quickly enough not to antagonise. 

“Both of…?”

“Both Emmas.” He explained easily, stepping back and allowing fresh air to cleanse the heat of him from her skin. “Timid little Regina’s girlfriend Emma and tough cookie Boston Emma.”

Her neck nearly snapped with the speed she turned her head to find him. 

“You know?!”

He had the gall to laugh at her as he stepped around the table, coming to stand in front of her. 

“Of course I know. You know, she knows, I know! We all know!” Then his laughter stopped, his face deadly serious as the gun gestured to the layers of felt in front of her. “Now make my hat.”

She winced. 

“Okay, but…” Her shoulder shrugged as she eyed the shelves of hats all around her. “Which Emma were you watching that made you think I know about hat making?”

They were nice hats, she would give him that; he definitely could make a decent hat all by himself. There was absolutely no need to make her make one for him. If she did, she was fairly sure it would come off looking like a second grader had attacked it, rough edged and wonky and childish. 

“The magic one.” 

It was said with a sneer, a growl out of his throat and the tone of it made her shiver. 

“Right.” She blinked again, mentally tip toeing around the minefield that was sure to blow her head off any moment. “Okay, but… that’s not me. That’s Regina and she said there was no magic left.”

He batted his head down until it bounced off a hat in front of him. 

“You _are_ magic!”

Despite the absurdity and fear and desperation at the moment, it was Emma’s turn to laugh. 

***

The sound of the telephone ringing woke Regina. 

She turned her head to eye the alarm clock by her bed and grimaced at the blurry numbers that told her it was just past three in the morning. Her cell was lying next to it on the charger and she could hear the official tone set for emergency calls forwarded from the Mayor’s office. 

“Regina Mills.”

“Madame Mayor?”

_I just said so._ Her teeth ground together in frustration, a common habit whenever she heard that voice. 

“Ms Blanchard, I sincerely hope there’s a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night when you actually live with the Sheriff who is first call for emergencies.”

Fear gripped her the very second she uttered the words. Yes, Mary Margaret did live with Emma. She also feared Regina. The only reason she would not call Emma first, would be that Emma was unable to help. _Emma_. 

She sat up in the bed, rigid with urgency. 

“What happened to Emma?”

Immediately her brain overflowed with the memory of the woman, bloodied and weak and confused, almost fainting in her arms. Emma, lying small and helpless and unconscious in the narrow hospital bed. Almost simultaneously she pictured other scenarios; hidden time bombs inside Emma’s brain, waiting for the dust to settle and their guards down to explode and leave the woman a vegetable or worse. 

“I… I don’t know. She didn’t come home last night. There’s no one at the station and nobody has seen her. David found the cruiser parked by the Toll Bridge.”

The Toll Bridge? Why would Emma leave the police cruiser…?

Then she remembered their talk by the pier and that Emma had promised her she would do a patrol. Regina had assumed the woman would just drive around town and make sure things were calm, but of course that would not be Emma’s style. Not the Emma she knew. Of course the woman would go trudging all the way into the forests and get herself lost or…

Fifteen feet she had fallen down that rocky incline. 

“Has David searched the woods?”

All sleep had disappeared from her voice at that point. She was awake and fully into Mayor Mills Emergency Contingency Mode. 

***

_Emma lay in bed, nervous and happy and heartbroken all in one._

_Her body was humming, a slow buzzing warmth that echoed throughout her blood and her skin and made her smile. The sheets were soft and the blankets thick, the pillows firm and comfortable under her head. Every time she shifted, her skin sung with the comfort of it._

_“Hey.” Came the warm voice next to her, thick and drowsy and welcome as the finger that traced a nail down the line of her nose. “What’s wrong?”_

_She turned to her side to face Regina, her right arm bent so that her hand rested underneath the pillow underneath her head. A tremulous smile danced across her lips as she studied the woman next to her. Regina was beautiful and wonderful and biting her lip with nerves as strong as Emma’s._

_“It’s good.” She whispered across the pillows as she grabbed the hand that had touched her face, bringing it to her mouth to kiss. Regina’s skin tasted of salt and come and sent another happy buzz through her. “It’s always so good.”_

_Emma rolled onto her back again and sighed to the ceiling. She heard the sigh next to her._

_“That must be awful for you.”_

_Though Regina’s voice was heavy with humour and sarcasm, it was also thick with confusion._

_“I didn’t…” The sigh came from herself this time. “I never knew it could be like that… not even once. Let alone every time.”_

_This room, this bed, this woman had become familiar to her over a matter of weeks. They had taken things slow too long before their actual relationship to take it slow after they began._

_“Ah.”_

_Realisation and understanding flowed strong through that one word._

_Even though they had waited for Emma to come of age, to be free of the system, to go out and establish her own career independent of Regina, even though Emma claimed time and time again she was an adult, grown enough to make her own decisions, there were always times when Regina would say or do something that would cement in her mind that Regina was the true adult and Emma was merely playing dress up in larger clothes._

_“It… it wasn’t bad.” She rushed to assure Regina. “With him, it wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t…”_

_She shrugged in the dark, their silhouettes visible through the rays of moonlight streaming through the curtains. Though Regina had spoken around the issue a few times, Emma had avoided speaking directly about her sexual experiences and it sat heavy between them now._

_“You know, sometimes he would get me drunk and it was always better then.”_

_Regina’s hand flattened against her cheek, slid down to cup the back of her neck and pull her back to her side, pull her forward so Regina could kiss her. Lips hot and strong and firm against her mouth. Not sexual, but comforting._

_“It’s okay.” Regina assured her. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”_

_She knew Regina had a different view of her history, the little she knew of it, than she did. To Emma, it had never been that bad, but it seemed Regina had a darker view of Neal and his actions and had even lower expectations of how he’d treated Emma in and out of the bed._

_“It wasn’t bad.” She insisted again, feeling almost petulant. So she softened her voice again. “It was just never this good. I always thought of sex and just something to get through, you know, the payment for all the other stuff. But now I get all the books and songs and movies and why it’s so popular.”_

_Regina lifted her chin and kissed Emma on the forehead, a caress of lips on skin, as her body rolled forward and slid right up against Emma’s. Hips and thighs and belly and breasts. Regina’s body was full and sleek and beautiful and complete and even though Emma was legally an adult and had grown a child in her body, made milk for him in her breasts, she felt childish in comparison, incomplete._

_“It’s not a payment, Emma.” Regina’s voice had gone from soft, sleepy and sated, to firm and unyielding. “It’s never a payment. I want you for you, not your body. It’s a bonus, but it’s not necessary, do you understand?”_

_She knew what Regina wanted to hear, she knew what the right thing to say was._

_“No.” But she couldn’t lie and the truth made her cringe a little as she shifted back from Regina’s body. “I don’t, I don’t… I’ll never really understand why you like me, if… if…”_

_The hands and arms and body slick against hers let her move away without once trying to bring her back._

_“If I don’t get something out of it, you mean?” Emma closed her eyes to the sliver of hurt she heard in Regina’s voice. “Why would I be nice to you if I’m not demanding something in return? If I don’t treat you and your body as a commodity to be used?”_

_It sounded bad when Regina summed it up like that, and she even knew in her head that it was not and could not be true, but knowing and feeling were two different things and she wished, she wished she could trust Regina with her heart the way she trusted her with everything else._

_“Emma.” A soft, hesitant mouth kissed her cheek, slow and careful enough for Emma to pull away if she wanted. She didn’t. “I get everything from you, without ever needing to ask for it.”_

_She reached out in the darkness and felt that familiar face under her hand, her thumb slid across the small indent of scar across Regina’s lip as she felt the mouth move under her touch._

_“You’re the first person in a long time that has seen me. The real me. As ridiculous as it sounds, I have spent years not being seen in this town and years before that. That is not a small thing. You bring life to me, Emma, in ways I have not been able to bring to myself. Please don’t discount yourself, you are everything to me.”_

_Emma rolled again, towards Regina, onto her side and then sliding her leg over and across Regina’s hip, sitting herself up on the cradle of abdomen presented to her. She took Regina’s hands in hers and brought them to the sheet besides Regina’s face, curving her body down so she could kiss the woman’s mouth. Deep and hungry and strong._

_“Say it again.”_

_Regina tilted her chin up to kiss Emma again, smiling against her mouth._

_“You are everything.”_

_Emma Swan grinned, the child who had only ever wanted to be something to someone._

***

“Make it work. Make it work. Make it work. If the making made it work, we wouldn’t need the magic. If we had the magic we wouldn’t need the working.”

The fingers of her left hand shook a little as she stretched out the fabric to the sound of his muttering, her right hand curled into the scissors and she carefully clipped along the marked out pattern. 

Emma had dutifully measured the felt around the solid hat stand, marked it, pinned the hems as instructed. All under the watchful and manic eye of Jefferson, her friendly neighbourhood psycho. He was given to fits of incoherent rambling interspersed with periods of sanity. 

He was wholly unpredictable and it left her nerves raw and jangling. 

She refused to think about his accusation. That’s what it felt like to her; an accusation. Yet another nail in the coffin of her guilt, her inability to actually make a decision to move one way or another in regards to the curse. There was no way she magic, none at all. 

A quick look across the table at the sudden silence showed dark eyes staring at her, a sliver of recognition in them. It might just be a lucid moment for him. 

“Why do you want me to make you a hat?” Frustration pooled visibly in his eyes and before the sigh could even leave his mouth, she rushed to appease him. “Yes, I know, magic, the chosen one, I’m special, yadda yadda. I mean, what are you going to do with a magic hat?”

Her hands fell to the table, idle, as he stood up and walked away, the barrel of the gun trailing against the table as he pulled towards a window opposite them. 

“I want to go home.”

For a moment, Emma was torn between laughing and questioning where they were if it wasn’t his home, but then her brain caught up with her and she heard the seriousness in his voice. 

“Where’s home?”

He looked at her then, turned his head and looked straight at her. It sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes were cold and hard and dangerous as he lifted his right hand and pointed out of the window. 

“With her.”

Slowly, carefully, Emma pulled away from the table, giving him every change to order her back down if that was what he wanted. He didn’t object and so she went to him, looked past him and out the window. She saw nothing but trees all around and faint lights in the distance. 

He gave a sound of irritation. 

“Through this.”

Another telescope. Of course. Her hands wrapped around the gold plating as she lowered her right eye to the viewing lens, squinting as she made out a house in the distance. And further, the telescope was pointed to another window. When the picture became clear, a blurry shaded night light and purple walls surrounding a still lump in a bed, she frowned and turned to face him. 

“You like watching little girls?”

The look of disgust on his face was either a relief or a sign to worry, but he didn’t give her much time to puzzle it out. 

“Not like that!” Then his shoulder crowded her out as he bent to look. The reverent way he caressed the scope was incongruous to his manic energy. “Do you miss him?”

She was going to get whiplash from all the subject changes. 

“I… uh… what?”

“Your son. Your boy.” He waved her confusion away and stood back. “Do you miss him?”

An ache growled in her chest, solid and hungry and desperate. 

“I see him all the time.”

He lowered his head, raising his brow at her in a look of pure disbelief as he reached out and trailed a thumb across her collar bone. 

“Yes, you see him, but you don’t _see_ him.” Then he stepped closer to her side. “Or, more like, he doesn’t see you. Does he? He’s not your son like this. He doesn’t remember you, remember any of you.”

The ache grew exponentially, clawing at her insides, and she wanted to snap, turn her chin downwards and just _bite_ him for his cruelty. 

“Yes.” It came gritted out of her teeth. “Of course I miss him.”

Then he stepped away and she welcomed the relief of cool air and space again. 

“Well, so do I.”

She could not stop herself reaching out again, grabbing hold of the telescope and looking through the lens one more time, eyeing the pristine bedroom shadowed in the dark, the overall friendly look of the house. The scope moved easily in her hands as she swung the sight down, she saw a neat dining table in one window and a grey and gleaming kitchen through another. 

“She’s your daughter.”

He would sit here, she knew instantly, and watch. Watch daily as that girl ate her meals and did her homework and brushed her hair. 

“Not here she’s not.”

And it all became clear. 

“You want to go home.” The words came out as a whisper. “Back to that land.”

The frustration on his face was clear and palpable. 

“Her name is Grace. Not here it’s not, it’s Paige, but her name is Grace.”

Emma straightened her spine, standing upright, but her left hand lingered on the cool metal of the scope as she turned to face him. 

“I can’t help you.” Her voice didn’t shake and she was glad of it, because her insides were liquid. “There is no magic here. Regina said…”

The change was sudden and frightening as he surged forward. Emma took a step back, her shoulder taking the brunt of the scope as he pressed towards her. The skin around his eyes was almost red and in the shadows given by the light behind his head, it gave him a menacing air. 

“She is the reason we are all here. She’s the reason your son doesn’t know you! She took my Grace from me three times! Three!”

“The curse.” It sounded obvious in her head, but she had no idea what to do to calm him down. “And then again…”

The gun pointed straight at her. 

“When she changed you.” A laugh trilled out of his mouth, but it wasn’t joyful or reassuring at all. “But first she took me from her and sent me away, she left me there! And I made so many hats. Hat after hat after hat. Do you know what it’s like making a thousand hats that don’t work? Do you?”

“I don’t…”

“The making doesn’t make it work!” He stepped back again. “So the magic must.”

The logic was so circular it was making her dizzy. 

“But I don’t have magic!” She could see the angry response form in his eyes before it ever reached his mouth and she pointed at him to stop it. “I don’t. There is no way on this earth I have magic! It’s impossible. Don’t you dare, don’t you dare say…”

Her throat choked on the words and she stopped only long enough to breathe. 

The words just weren’t there, not in her brain and not in her mouth. She could see the puzzlement in his eyes and it did not calm her. Somebody had to have answers and it definitely wasn’t her. 

“I get it, you know. I get it. The storybook is real, I’m a princess from another land, the daughter of goddamned Snow White and Prince Charming, the mother of my son is the Evil Queen, Little Red Riding Hood serves us breakfast and we’re all trapped here. But there is no way I have any…”

The air smelled like the faintest breath of stale alcohol and hot sweaty bodies, cramped and hidden and too big for such a small, skinny girl. Emma felt trapped and hopeless and young and all she wanted was out, an escape, all she wanted was…

“All my life, all the shitty fucking things in my life… God… all those nights I huddled in my blankets praying for someone to come and save me! Do you think _any_ of that would have happened if I could have saved myself!”

“Emma…”

Emma turned back to look through the lens again and tried to calm her breathing, tightened her grip against the telescope, and kept the rest of her body still so as not to telegraph her intent. She could feel him behind her. A wall of heat that took a step forward. Closing her eyes, she hefted the weight of the scope and swung it high and hard as she turned. 

The impact ricocheted up her arm and into her shoulder. It took her a second to fully grasp the import of what her eyes were seeing. Jefferson was on the ground, inert and moaning; when it did hit her she dropped the scope and ran out of the room, heading straight for the door at the end of the hallway. 

“Crap. Shit. Fuck.”

In the chaos, she had forgotten it was locked. 

She could not remember seeing a set of keys anywhere and so her only choice was to look for another way out. The first door she tried ended up being no help at all. The second was a storage room of sorts. The third was like some sort of office or den. Her best bet to look for keys as she made her way to the desk. 

She was three steps into the room when the footstep fell behind her. She spun around, but was too late as a body rammed into her midsection at full force. They both went flying. Her ass hit the floor first, followed by the back of her skull thumping down hard, and then the rest of her spine settling down in the wake of her stunned pain blooming in her brain. 

Emma rolled onto her stomach to push herself up and, in doing so, saw the gun where it had fallen, changing tactic she scooted forward. But he didn’t give her time to recover as he crawled up her back and scrambled to stop her reaching for the weapon. 

Her belly flattened into the floor and her hips ached as his knees squeezed them tight. She felt his fingers sliding through her hair the second before her fear and the next second was bursting pain as he pulled her neck up and slammed her face down to the ground. She bucked up as much as she could and managed to slide them half a foot forward. 

It was enough to grip the gun and the upper hand. Rolling again, she aimed well, pointing straight at his face. He was sane enough to back away and she breathed hard as she slid her feet underneath her and slowly stood up, never taking her eyes from him. 

“Enough.”

He quirked his head to the left to look at her and the movement drew her eyes to his neck. The struggle had loosened the bandana he wore and she saw an unsightly gash that went from ear to ear. Her moment’s pause made him grin. 

“Off with his head.” Then his grin faded. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that _of course_ she would. But her finger already shook in the trigger and her pounding brain was full of a confusing mix of advice. She was a sheriff and shooting her gun was a serious thing. She was a victim at the hands of a mad man who had already drugged, threatened and hurt her. She was fighting for her life and the means was justified. He was a sad little man who wanted his daughter back. He was… 

Emma blinked and her face blanked out. He was a mad man. Who made hats. And drank tea. 

“You’re the mad hatter.”

Jefferson stepped closer. 

“You’re very observant.”

His fingers closed around hers on the gun and she tried to hold onto it, tried hard, but her fingers slipped under the pressure of his skin pinching against hers and with one little tug he’d gotten it back. 

“Now make me my hat.”

Emma sighed in defeat. 

“I’ll make your hat, but if it doesn’t work you still have to let me go, gun or not.”

Jefferson ran the top of the gun along his jaw, considering as he looked her up and down. 

“If the hat doesn’t work, I won’t need a gun.”

***

_Regina was nervous._

_She sat tall and straight in the chair and tried not to feel the pull of the seat belt against her chest and abdomen as her fingers tapped a tuneless rhythm against the bottom of the car window. Her neck rolled to the left away from the sign announcing their departure from Storybrooke and she looked at the peaceful face next to her._

_“Where are we going, Emma?”_

_She only got a grin in response._

_“I told you, it’s a surprise.”_

_“Prize!” Came the happy exclamation from the back seat. “Prize!”_

_“You shouldn’t plan a surprise for me.” Regina said, her voice as warm as Emma’s. “It’s your birthday. I should be the one surprising you.”_

_Her eyes caught Emma’s fingers tightening around the steering wheel, this woman who had become her entire world, who had bought her a son. She was beautiful and in the last twelve months she had blossomed into a confident, assured lover who knew what she wanted and how to get it, who knew Regina and knew what Regina wanted and how to give it._

_But right then, in the car, was a nervous Emma Regina hadn’t seen for a long time._

_“Are you okay?”_

_Emma gave her a smile that looked sincere on the top, but it was weak and nervous underneath, a contrast to the sincere grin from minutes before._

_“Yeah.” One hand slid down from the wheel and hovered in the console between them. Regina did not hesitate to reach out and twine her fingers between Emma’s. “Just don’t… I don’t know. This is…”_

_Wherever they were going, Regina knew it was bigger than she had first thought._

_“I’m not going anywhere.” She said. “And neither are you.”_

_The fingers in hers squeezed and then Emma looked up at the rearview mirror._

_“Hey Buddy, you hungry?”_

_“We eating horsies!”_

_Regina snapped her head to the backseat between them to look at her grinning, eager eyed son._

_“What?”_

_The air filled with the sudden, high sound of Emma’s delighted laughter and it filled Regina with warmth._

_“No, kid, no. We’re hungry enough to eat them, but we’re not actually eating the horses! How ‘bout a nice burger and fries?”_

_It was a slow head turn to give a glare to the woman sitting next to her. Emma just shrugged in response._

_“What? He’ll love it.” Regina continued to glare. “Fine, fine, he can have a big plate of veggies. I’ll just give him some of my fries when you’re not looking.”_

_Regina settled back in the passenger seat and straightened her spine._

_“Impossible. I’m always watching.”_

_A chuckle was her only response._

_“Don’t I know it.”_

_It was not long before Emma pulled the car to a stop in a small, run down looking car lot next to a tired looking road side diner. Regina eyed the building with suspicion as she waited in the steadily growing silence. Emma was not moving next to her._

_Regina had begun to plan an evening in for Emma’s birthday, a three course meal and candlelight and music, something quiet and soft and intimate for them both. They’d had more time together since Emma had taken the job as Deputy, but not as much as she would have liked._

_Emma, however, had other plans and had insisted that she take them all out to dinner. She’d told Regina casual, that they were going nowhere special, but she had no idea that Emma had meant this casual. The name of the diner was spelled out in intermittent fizzling neon, the windows looked unwashed and the entire place was empty save a few people that looked as if they had given up hope altogether._

_It did not look worthy of a birthday dinner and certainly not worthy of a visit outside of Storybrooke altogether. That had been the most nerve wracking part of the whole experience, even though she knew she could leave she had only ever done so when organising Henry’s adoption and certainly not today of all days._

_But she would do anything for Emma._

_Even eat here._

_“Well, then.” She suggested in a voice too cheery to be sincere. “Let’s eat. I’m sure it’s going to be…”_

_“Regina, wait.” Emma leaned forward and opened the glove box, taking out a manila folder. “This. This is why.”_

_The car suddenly became very small to Regina, the air thickening with expectation as she fingered the edge of the folder carefully. It felt important, it felt dangerous. It felt like something she did not want to read, not with Emma’s wide and expectant eyes and the strange silence from the backseat._

_She flipped open the top cover and looked at the photo of a skinny blonde girl child of about six years old._

_The large eyes were what grabbed her, tired and sad and mistrusting._

_“It started here.”_

_But Regina didn’t need the narrative. She saw the clipped newspaper headlines, the words that announced the abandoned baby. Her body sat rigid as she put the pieces together, her hands clenched tight, bending the paper between them, crushing the file._

_“Regina?”_

_She couldn’t do it. She could not raise her eyes._

_“Regina, are you okay?”_

_She could not meet the green eyes, set inside the face she loved, that innocent face with the suddenly too familiar chin._

_“Your birthday…” Her brain was shorting out. “You were found… as a baby… on…”_

_On the same day she had bought their entire land here._

_If she closed her eyes she could practically smell the cold stone of the castle walls, feel the crackle of magic as it flowed purple and angry around the land, hear the crack of Snow White’s voice pleading for clemency and her own voice demanding…_

_Demanding to know where the child was._

_“Emma.”_

_Snow’s child._

_The child prophesised to be her downfall._

_Sent through a magical wardrobe to escape her curse._

_That child was sitting next to her inside the car, was the mother of her son, was her girlfriend. Snow White’s contemptible little brattling shared her bed and her life and, worst of all, her heart._

_She had meant to kill the mewling little thing._

_“Regina, what’s wrong?”_

_She inhaled once, hearing inside her head the faint snick of arrows being drawn as her hands were tied behind the stake, and forced her entire body to relax before she raised her eyes and looked into worried green ones, eyes that were born to ruin her life._

_She would do anything for Emma._

_“Absolutely nothing, dear. Let’s eat.”_

***

The beginnings of sunlight were streaming through the windows by the time Emma ran her fingers around the finished brim of the hat. Black trim and a shiny band, it looked better than she’d originally imagined herself capable of, but it would never win any fashion awards. 

“Here.” She held it out by the brim, her eyebrow cocked. “A hat.”

He took it gently, reverently, and turned to the empty room as Emma stood, leaning her hand on the table for balance before letting go. She watched it spin as he flung it to the floor with a flick of his wrist. It spun around several times before coming to a standstill. 

“Huh.” Her vision seemed to spin a second or two after the hat had stopped. “I told you.”

He spun to glare at her. 

“It didn’t work!”

Emma blinked, her brow stung with the cracking of a crusted scab. 

“You don’t say?”

His step forward was closer to a lunge than anything else and Emma took an immediate step backwards until she felt the table across the back of her thighs. 

“Woah. Wait!” Her hands came out, palm outwards. “The deal was, I make you your hat. Well, there’s your hat!”

“But…”

“But nothing! I did what you wanted! Now I am leaving, not only are you going to let me, but you will stay out of my way from here on out. I don’t want to see you near me or my family again. Do you hear me?”

There was a moment where he looked lost, undecided, and Emma wondered if he was about to fight again, to demand another impossible thing. But the useless hat seemed to be the last straw in his momentum and he flipped the gun so that the handle was offered to her. 

“Go.” He said. “Third door on the right will take you downstairs.”

She waited a breath or two, eyeing him and the abandoned hat behind him. Then she reached for her gun and pried it out of his hands. 

“I could arrest you for this. I should…”

His entire posture slumped in front of her. 

“Emma…”

“Don’t. Stay out of my way.”

There was no question that he was dangerous, but after ten years of him staying quiet enough that she’d never even known he’d lived out here, it seemed that she was the only one he was a danger to. And now that he had seen firsthand that she was useless to his task, he did not seem that much of a threat any more. 

“If I ever hear your name in town, I will lock you up so fast, your head will spin.”

Then she turned and walked away. 

***

She had lived two lifetimes and had experienced enough in that time to cover eight. She had ruled kingdoms and terrorized communities, raised her son, magic had been at her fingertips, the laws of nature had not applied to her, she had harnessed forces beyond imagination. 

Regina Mills had lived. 

Regina Mills had reigned. 

Regina Mills had stubbed her toe against a tree root. 

Of all things she was capable of doing, traipsing through the woods in the near dark with a brain dead Charming, whose brain death until recently had been a completely literal thing. There was a twig stuck in her hair.

“You okay there, Madam Mayor?”

She gritted her teeth and pulled her arms closer to her body to avoid his proffered arm as she stepped around him. 

“Just fine, thank you.”

She had long forgotten how she had been the one to draw the short straw ending up hiking through the woods looking for none other than Emma Swan. She was half afraid to find the woman comatose on the ground and half expecting to find her perfectly fine and be overcome with the need to put her in a coma. 

The first order of business when she got back to town was to begin drawing plans for some organised check in search stations in a grid along this forest. It seemed to be home to lost Storybrooke citizens nearly every month at this point. 

“Did you hear that?”

She looked up to the sound of David’s voice and rolled her eyes to see his quirked head. He was like a cocker spaniel. Regina brushed the stick out of her hair and pushed it behind her ear. 

“Another squirrel, most likely.”

She hadn’t heard anything. He wasn’t convinced however, and pointed to the right to indicate he was going to look further off the path. Regina sighed and continued to walk. Her flashlight gave off an eerie circle of light greened out by fallen and rotting leaves. 

They crunched under her feet and she shivered in the morning air. 

Several steps later she heard a sound. 

The arc of light from her flashlight swung in a wide circle as she aimed it forward. 

It sounded low and deep and horrid, a croaking kind of… she paused… familiar… 

“Hello?”

Retching. It was retching. 

Regina’s heart sped up as she ran forward, her right arm held straight in front of her as if she could push herself forward by the light of the torch. A heaving lump several feet into the trees became clear and she stumbled off the track to reach her. 

“Emma? Emma! Are you alright?”

When Emma did turn, panting heavily, Regina gasped at the lurid bruise flourishing on the left side of the woman’s forehead and the scabbing over wound that was crusted in dried blood down the side of her cheek. 

“What happened?”

“Regina?” Emma scrambled up shakily, wobbling on her feet as she grabbed Regina for balance. “My fucking head. I think I have another concussion.”

She twisted the flashlight up as she manoeuvred both hands to cup Emma’s head, feeling for lumps. There was a big one near the rear and Regina sighed through clenched teeth. 

“Did you patrol these woods at night and fall down another ditch? For goodness sakes, Emma, are you really that brain…”

But Emma shook her head, leaning heavily enough on Regina that her face was almost in the crook of Regina’s neck. 

“There was a man.” It came out like a murmur, a soft memory, but Regina could hear the cracking of anger and fear and left over adrenaline. “Jefferson… he took my gun… I made a hat…” 

The words made no real sense. But the name did. She felt a surge of anger, red hot and vicious in her belly. Possessiveness she had forced herself not to feel seeped into her consciousness and Regina felt the need to visit her old friend and teach him the consequences of harming what was hers. 

“You turned Grace into a Paige.”

“Come on.” She edged her hand around Emma’s shoulder, around her back, and under her arm to help take the woman’s weight. “Let’s get you back home.”

“Mmm.” Emma nodded wearily as she stepped in tandem with Regina, her own hand slipping around a waist it had known for a long, long time. “Regina? I want to do it.”

They stumbled back up to the path and Regina felt an inkling of fear irrelevant of Emma’s latest injuries and Jefferson’s brand new penchant for assault. 

“Do what?”

After a swallow, Emma turned determined and wary green eyes up to her. 

“I want to break the curse.”

***  
End Chapter 7.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, look who we have here: the Evil Queen and newly anointed Savior. Although I do sense some dissension in the ranks, trouble in paradise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Wow, it's been so long. Anybody remember this fic? Ok, so a bit of a departure from the usual heart wrenching angst and sobbing messes these ladies have been wallowing in for the first seven chapters. We have plot! Actual plot moving. Exciting stuff.

***

Emma gently touched the gauze taped to her forehead with her left hand. 

“You want me to what?”

Regina bit her lip and shifted her weight onto her left hip. A sure sign of her growing impatience that she was not being obeyed instantly and without question. Emma shook her head, slowly, but a shake nonetheless. She sat on the edge of the hospital gurney with her legs dangling off the side, feeling little more than a child. 

“No.” But she wasn’t a child and she had learned to stand up when she needed to. “Christ, Regina, I’m supposed to be the one with the concussion. Are you drunk right now?”

Regina’s mouth tightened. 

“You don’t have a concussion. Although I’m not sure I buy that, given your latest proclivity in bashing your head against any nearby surface.”

Her right hand clenched around the metal railing of the bed. Whale could not come back fast enough to release her from the hospital. She needed to get away from the building, from the astringent scent of bleach, and from Regina and her apparent lack of sanity. 

“Wonderful. So glad we’ve reverted back to banter. It still doesn’t mean I’m going to move back into the house!”

The flinch passed over Regina’s face in less than a second, but Emma still saw it. 

“Stay with, I said, not move back in.”

She looked at the wall behind Regina’s head, blank and colourless except for the plain clock that tick tick ticked steadily and slowly. Counting down the seconds that made the minutes that dragged into a discomfort worse than the ache in her new stitches. 

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to be a guest in that house. My house, Regina!”

Regina’s hand came up towards her, palm outwards, as if easing a wild animal with its hackles up. 

“I know it’s going to be awkward…”

“Awkward?” Emma’s voice hissed in the sterile room. The only saving grace in the situation was that they were in an actual room and not the cubicles separated by thin curtains found in any other hospital emergency room in America. “You want me to… what? Pack a bag and set up in the spare room?”

She had to lean back when Regina leaned forward, very close, placing one hand on either side of Emma’s legs on the bed. 

“You can always take the sofa.” The words were hissed back, frustration clearly getting the best of the woman. “You are the one that wants to break this curse, Emma, and I don’t know about you but I have no idea how that might be done. Which means we need to do some research and I’m not convinced your ‘roommate’ is going to understand all the sudden late night study sessions with ancient magical tomes.”

Her entire body flinched at the stress on the word roommate, her brain trying to find ways that would explain to Mary Margaret the craziness her life had become. She couldn’t. Her body sagged in acquiescence and she could see the glint of knowledge in Regina’s eyes. That woman knew her much too well. 

“Well, everything seems to be in or…”

Dr Whale stopped midsentence, his arm holding the door open, staring at them with an open mouth. 

That was when they both realised just how close they were and Regina stepped back just as Emma jumped off the bed and began brushing her hands down her jeans. Neither looked at the other. 

“I can go?” Emma asked hopefully. 

He nodded. 

“Sure. Yes. Just… you should make sure someone is home with you for the next twenty four hours, just to make sure you don’t develop any of those symptoms we talked about.”

“She’ll stay with me.” Regina’s voice cut in before Emma could even respond. “I’m sure Mary Margaret has classes to attend to and I can work from home.”

It didn’t matter after that what looks Emma sent Regina’s way, apparently the matter had been decided, and Dr Whale knew just enough not to comment, despite the height of his eyebrows. 

***

Emma walked up the stairs slowly. 

What she wanted was to go back to Mary Margaret’s apartment, crawl into her bed, and never ever leave it. At the very least, she wanted to close her eyes as she made the trek through the house. She’d left Regina headed towards the kitchen. 

She definitely wanted to do it alone. 

Her eyes refused to close, however, and instead she had to bite her lip and try not to flinch or reach out every time she passed a frame mounted on the wall. Henry. Henry. Henry and Regina. Henry and Regina in front of the Christmas tree. Henry riding his bike. Henry. And Regina. Mother and son. 

And no Emma. 

Her bag felt heavy on her shoulder and she paused outside the large door that once was hers; that she’d once shared with Regina, and sighed. Then she continued to the barren empty door. The spare room. 

Once upon a time, in a different reality, her room for a good eighteen months. 

She could not believe she was doing this. She could not believe she had agreed to stay here. She must have some form of sadomasochistic streak to do this to herself. Emma sat down on the bed, sterile and perfectly made with no personality whatsoever. 

There was a gentle knock on the door. 

“Emma?” She flinched at the sound of Regina’s voice, hesitant and nervous. “Can I come in?”

If Emma had any brain cells firing enough to spark together, she would stand up and walk out of the room, out of the house, out of Storybrooke altogether. Instead, she gave a bitter, broken little laugh. 

“It’s your house.”

There was a silent pause and she could imagine Regina trying to collect herself. Then the door swung open and the woman stepped inside. Emma could hear her footsteps padding softly on the carpet, but she did not look up, did not think she could look Regina in the face right then. 

“I know…” Regina started, then stopped again. Her voice was weaker than Emma could ever remember it being. “I realise this is awkward for you, for all of us, but I thought…”

Her fingers curled up into impotent little fists on her knees as she hunched her back further, trying to make herself smaller in a protective gesture she could not remember making in over a decade. 

Emma wanted to disappear, she wanted to get out, she wanted to turn and lash out, really yell at the woman standing next to her. The impulse to hurt her was indescribably, disgustingly strong. 

“You thought what?” She eventually spat. “You thought you’d make a nice dinner and that would be that? We’d smile and get along and forget the fact that you erased my entire fucking existence? And now I’m expected to stay here in this room like I’m eighteen years old and still on probation again? It’s not that easy, Regina. I can’t… I can’t… I just can’t forget.”

A box was pressed into her hands.

“I don’t expect your forgiveness, Emma, and I don’t expect you to be happy about this. I can’t keep saying I’m sorry, you know I am. I just thought this might help.”

Without meeting her eyes, Regina backed out of the room and closed the door again. 

Emma looked down at the box in her hands, it was heavy for its size. There was dust on the lid and the sides, hastily brushed aside, that told her it had been retrieved from the attic. She had not seen its like when she lived here. 

Curiosity got the better of her and she gently pried the lid off and looked inside. 

Easier, Regina had said. 

Emma choked on the sobs that bubbled up out of her throat and covered her mouth with both hands. Her shoulders heaved violently against her will and she tried to hold it all in. The box slid off her knees and fell to the floor. Photos and albums spilled out onto the carpet, cards professing love written in a childish hand. 

A spidery stick figure drawing with a large yellow sun, two women and a little boy. 

_Mommy, Mama and Me._

***

_Emma walked in the door with a confusing mix of contentment and slowly brimming anger._

_She had woken that morning and had breakfasted with her family at a decent hour, had showered and dressed and left the house at no earlier than eight thirty. On the very same day she was getting home before dinner time._

_No overnight stays out of town. No hours of travel. No dangerous tracking of dangerous criminals. No subterfuge whatsoever. The irony that being an official deputy with a badge and a gun was less dangerous and time consuming than being a freelance bounty hunter was certainly not lost on her._

_And it was beautiful. She got to wake with her family and then go to sleep with her family._

_Her family._

_The very thought made her jaw clench, even as it made her heart warm._

_Light chattering sounds came from the kitchen and she could not stop herself from smiling. Walking to the door, she saw Regina’s back, shapely and clad in a form fitting dress, her right arm stirring a pot on the stove._

_Next to her, plump little legs dangling over the side of the bench, sat Henry chatting away in his mix of real words and made up sounds. He looked up at Regina and Emma could see, the way Regina never saw, the adoration in his face when Regina wasn’t looking at him._

_She lifted her hand to hold the door jamb and draped her form against it._

_“Honey, I’m home.”_

_“Mama!”_

_Henry was delighted and Regina spun around, surprise on her face. A good surprise, by the warmth that entered her eyes the next second and the smile that grew on her lips._

_“So you are.” Regina gave a smirk as she walked towards her. “And how was your second day on the job?”_

_“Boring.” She did not miss the puzzled frown Regina gave as she ducked the oncoming embrace and skirted the kitchen instead to come to Henry’s outstretched hands. “Spent most of it reading the policy and procedures manual. Even then, there were no phone calls, not even a cat up a tree. If all days are like this one, this is going to be easy money.”_

_Anchoring him by the hips, Emma bent down to smush her face into Henry’s round little belly and blew raspberries on the squirming toddler. His giggles made her grin and the way his chubby little fingers both clutched at her and pushed her away soothed her._

_Soothed her in a way that Regina watching her with eagle sharp eyes did not._

_“Well, then.” Regina’s raised eyebrow belied the neutral expression on her face as she returned to the saucepan and stirred the wooden spoon. “It sounds like you had a very good day.”_

_Cupping her left hand, Regina lifted the spoon with her right and blew lightly on it before offering it to Emma. She could not help but examine her girlfriend’s face as she leaned forward and took the edge of the spoon between her lips._

_Dark eyes, usually warm and caring were narrowed in confusion, but her face was just as lovely as always. Smooth, olive skin and defined cheek bones, the delectable scar on her lip, the way she always tried to make Emma feel cared for._

_“Oh my god.” She could not stop herself moaning as the taste hit her senses and her eyes fluttered closed. “That is delicious.”_

_She wanted to be happy, she wanted to trust in this family so much it actually hurt her. She had never had anything quite so comfortable and easy and welcoming in her life. This was everything she had ever wanted and she should just leave it at that._

_“Graham asked me how you were today.”_

_Her boss. The sheriff._

_Regina’s back stiffened and she turned back to the pot with a noncommittal hum._

_“He asked yesterday, too.” Emma pointed out. “He seems quite interested in the subject.”_

_Without answering, Regina bumped her aside with her hips and picked Henry up off the bench, giving him a kiss to the side of his neck as she lowered him to the ground._

_“Go play, Sweetie. I’ll be right in.”_

_They both watched him toddle out of the room, towards the sitting room with his large basket of toys._

_“Emma…”_

_But that shake in Regina’s voice was really all the answer she needed._

_“Really?” Her hands made a gesture, flexed out in front of her. “The sheriff? You have a history with this guy and now you expect me to work with him?”_

_“It’s not what you think…”_

_She should listen, she should…_

_“No, no… you didn’t… to get me the job?”_

_The way Regina’s face blanched white and her lips thinned out told Emma all she needed to know on that subject._

_“I refuse to dignify that with an answer. I understand you’re surprised at this news, but you entered into this relationship with the full knowledge that I have had previous relationships. You cannot hold them against me now.”_

_Emma immediately looked down to the floor._

_“I know, I’m sorry, but…”_

_She did not know how to voice her inner thoughts. The insecurity, the way she looked across her desk at the man who wore his Sheriff’s badge with a superiority she did not have, the way his kind eyes crinkled at her when he offered her a donut from the box. The way he was almost perfect in everything he did and how Emma knew she wasn’t._

_Two hands landed on her cheek._

_“I wanted you to take the job, because I thought you’d be good at it. Because you get so tired running out of town and back again, chasing bail jumpers and fraudsters, because I want you here with me, with Henry.”_

_Emma gave in to the slight pressure of the hands on her face and lifted her chin, lifted her eyes to meet those of her girlfriend. Eyes that sparkled with knowledge and understanding, if tainted a little with anger._

_“This is a small town, Emma, you were bound to run into someone connected to my past. But let me tell you this: whatever I had with Graham is no longer. I am with you now. You need to trust that. You need to trust me.”_

_She nodded, taking the weight of Regina’s hands with her as she did._

_“I’m sorry, I…”_

_“Don’t apologise.” Regina said and leant down to kiss her on the lips. “Not this time. The next time you question my loyalty, however, you should plan on a lot of grovelling.”_

***

It was a delicate situation. 

Regina did not want to appear to be going to too much trouble. 

On one hand, she knew all of Emma’s favourite dishes and quirks or, at least, she had known. And she wanted desperately to keep her happy, to atone for all her mistakes. On the other, she didn’t want to appear as if she were trying to wheedle something out of the woman that she was not ready, or willing, to give. 

Which was why Regina found herself making a chicken dish that Emma neither liked nor disliked to any great degree. 

At the sound of footsteps slowly coming down the stairs, she suddenly wished she had made more of an effort. And when she dared look up and saw the rawness of the skin around Emma’s eyes, she wished she had outdone herself more than she ever had. 

Words stuck in her throat and she found she couldn’t talk. She had no idea what to say or how. 

“I thought…” So Emma did it for her. “I thought they were all gone.”

And Regina took a breath, closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself. 

“I couldn’t let it all go.” She admitted. “It might have been selfish, but I needed to keep something.”

Emma sat down cautiously at the breakfast nook and raised her eyes enough to be looking towards Regina, but not quite meeting her eyes. 

“We were happy, right?” The shake in Emma’s voice cut her to the bone. “I mean, I thought we…”

“Yes.” Regina rushed to assure her, skirting the bench and coming to sit next to Emma. “We were very happy, happier than I had ever been before or since.”

She wanted to reach out and touch Emma, to feel that skin on hers again, to comfort her. It had been eighteen months since they had been close, eighteen months that Regina had spent regretting her decision. Her hand hovered in the air above Emma’s arm. 

Both of them watched Regina’s fingers twitch in mid-air, before she retracted her arm. 

“Then why?” 

Emma’s voice shook again and Regina knew the tears were closer to the surface than she had originally thought. 

“Just before Henry’s birthday, you began questioning things. I think that spurred it off, actually. He refused to have a party and you kept asking him why. When he said it was because he was the only child that aged and he had no friends because of it, you began noticing things you hadn’t before.”

Regina bit her lip. 

“The curse… it prevented you from noticing things, but after Henry pointed them out, you noticed. Nobody aged, not even the kids, not me. Nobody could remember specific dates in their own history. It was all a blur.”

She stood up and went to open a high cupboard in the kitchen. It held Henry’s book. The book. The source of all her heartache. 

“I don’t know where you found this, or why you made the connection, but you did. And… and you reacted badly.”

Emma nodded and Regina knew she was trying to process all the information. 

“You threatened to take Henry away from me, you began drinking. It hurt you, to think I had deceived you all those years, that I had kept your family from you, that… that I had been responsible for everything in your life. But most of all, that I had lied to you about it.”

They both knew the level of trust issues incurred by Emma’s past. Though the worst of it had been soothed by nine years in a steady relationship, most of that had been ripped away when the truth of Regina’s actions had come to light. 

“You erased me from your life because I was angry at you? Because I threatened to take Henry?”

The quake had disappeared to a steely form of anger. 

“No. There was… an incident.”

She stopped there.

“Regina.”

But that wasn’t good enough, the low threat in Emma’s voice told her that. 

“You have to realise, Emma, you were a very different person, you were…” Softer, weaker, happier, more trusting, more open to falling apart. Regina said none of those things. “… you did not handle the truth of my past then as well as you did this time.”

This time she did reach out and covered Emma’s hand with her own, wrapping her fingers around the suddenly still and stiff ones underneath hers. Slowly, carefully, inch by inch, Emma withdrew her hand, sliding it out from under Regina’s until there was nothing but air. 

She curled her fingers into a fist. 

“Yeah.” Emma agreed bitterly. “All those extra years of solitude and loneliness made me a much stronger person. Thanks a bunch for that.”

“You drank.” Regina reminded her. “You drank heavily. And you crashed your car. I thought…”

She closed her eyes and remembered pacing the hospital hallway, covered in Emma’s blood after pulling the woman from the twisted wreckage of her car. Her brain torturing her with the imagined conversation of having to tell Henry his mother had died. 

She remembered the weeks of recovery and Emma’s weak, but determined refusal to let Regina in her hospital room. She’d been listed as Emma’s emergency contact, it allowed Dr Whale to discuss the case with her. 

And she remembered his voice telling her of the alcohol content of Emma’s blood, about the likelihood of permanent damage if she continued to drink like that. 

“You got out of the hospital two weeks later and the first thing you did was drive to the liquor store.” Regina lifted her eyes then to meet Emma’s. “It was then I knew I had to do something drastic to save you.”

Emma’s eyes had clouded over and she looked to the side. 

“I… I…” Regina watched her rotate her left shoulder. “I took a bad hit from a mark. I remember, my entire body was sore for weeks afterwards and I… I…”

_…craved a drink…_

Neither of them finished the sentence. Emma just shrugged. 

“Was that when?”

She nodded. 

“I’m sorry.” Regina could not stop herself saying again, probably would never be able to stop herself. “I had to give you those memories. I had to make sure, if you ever came back, you’d be stronger, harder, less likely to believe in fairy tales.”

It was a choked, strangled sort of sound that escaped Emma’s throat. 

“Good job.”

It wasn’t a compliment and it certainly wasn’t taken as one. Regina’s chest clenched. She took a breath and laid her hands flat on the bench, ready to push herself to standing, to serve the meal that would now be awkward and uncomfortable. 

“One more question.”

That could not be good. Regina did not want to hear it and she was pretty sure she did not want to answer it. She counted to five slowly inside her head and tried to calm her breathing. 

“Okay.”

Her voice shook, giving her reluctance away. 

“Exactly how long after you wiped me from existence did you begin sleeping with Graham again?”

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Emma…”

The bitter little chuckle that Emma gave crawled inside Regina’s ears and made her wince. 

“That soon, huh?”

Regina stood up and stepped back from the tension that had slowly increased to suffocating proportions. 

“Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Emma was beyond bitter chuckles at that point, her mouth dropping open as she glared pin pointed eyes straight at her. 

“Me? To myself? That’s freakin’ rich, Regina! You did it! You did this! You erased me from your life and barely took a breath before shacking up with your ex! Tell me how I’m supposed to react to that?”

There was no answer to give as she slowly, carefully, took two plates out of the cupboard and placed them on the bench, the crunch of china on marble echoing much louder in the silence of the kitchen than it usually did. 

“You know what? I was wrong, I can’t do this.” Emma finally stood up, the chair tottering behind her with the force of it. “Have a great curse. I’m outta here. Keep your fucking chicken.”

She couldn’t move as Emma’s footsteps echoed through the house towards the front door. At the last minute, Regina raced to the edge of the kitchen. 

“Emma! You have to have someone watch you for at least another twenty one hours.”

There was a moment of silence before the front door slammed. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

She leaned against the door jamb to the sound of angry footsteps thudding up her stairs. 

***

By the time her anger simmered down, Emma’s stomach was getting the best of her. 

When she’d first hit her head, the nausea had overwhelmed her along with the dizziness, but she had not eaten since the night before and her phone told her it was well into the afternoon. 

It was a strange sense of déjà vu as she walked cautiously down the stairs, ears pricked for any sound of movement as she headed towards the kitchen to see if she could scrape up something to eat. She had never felt more like her seventeen year old self than in that moment. 

Silence surrounded her and she felt no other presence in the house. It should unnerve her that she could _feel_ if Regina was around or not. But she had accepted this fact back when she had no memory of their near decade together, there was no sense questioning it now she knew their history. 

She did question why Regina would leave her alone after demanding she stay there to remain supervised. 

The kitchen was empty and pristine and achingly familiar. 

Emma closed her eyes and took a breath before opening the fridge door. 

Of course. Of course there was a plate there, on her old shelf, neatly saran wrapped. She almost expected jars of pumped breast milk to be nestled in behind it. Her fingers wrapped around the edge of the door and she groaned. 

It was almost enough to quell her appetite. 

Almost. 

She pricked holes in the wrap and deposited the plate in the microwave to heat it up. The clock said it was near time for Henry to be home. Perhaps Regina had gone to pick him up. It would not be a long trip, certainly Regina would have felt comfortable enough to leave her alone for the twenty minutes tops it would take. 

Emma finished the plate and automatically washed it and the utensils she used, placing them neatly in the drying rack and wiping the bench. She balled up the wrap and put it in the trash. 

Then she set her jaw, reached out, and nudged the magnetic photo frame on the fridge slightly off centre. 

***

Regina Mills did not need to knock on the door. 

He was lucky he still had a door. 

Her skeleton key worked just fine and she twisted the knob easily, pushed the door open before striding through. Her carefully planned high heels clacked on the floor, click, click, click. Just another notch on her intimidation scale she had perfected. 

She wondered where he was, but was not in the mood to go searching.

“Jefferson!” 

Without raising her voice to an unseemly yell, she still carried the lilt of a Queen not to be messed with. 

He strode into the room with as much sleaze as he was always capable. 

“Regina.” Even the smug way his voice seemed to suggest he was unafraid of her made her teeth itch. “What can I do for you?”

She did not waste time and set her glare straight at him. 

With each step she took, a crack began to surface in his swagger and Regina let the corner of her mouth curve upwards in a pleased smirk as he began to back up. Step for step, until his back had hit the far wall of the hallway he had been standing in. 

She took another two steps until she was almost pressed against him. 

“You?” It had been a long time since her voice had dropped to that particular level. “Do something for me? Well, that’s laughable in itself. But I have come here to provide you with a very valuable service.”

Her right hand came up to brush at an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder and she let it fall to rest to the front of it, her fingertips settling in the curve of his collarbone, just underneath the neckerchief he wore and the heel of her hand flattened against the front of his chest. 

His adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. 

“I came to tell you that if I ever see or hear of you anywhere near my family again, well…” Her smile widened until her teeth were bared. “… let’s just say that there may not be any magic left in this world, but I am fairly sure I can find other… messier, more painful ways to take someone’s heart.”

Jefferson licked his lips and set his jaw. 

“The way I see it; she’s not really yours anymore, is she?” Triumph was weak and frightened and foolhardy, but it was still there in his gaze. “Not since you cast your little spell.”

Regina shrugged and lifted her hands up and clear of him before she backed away, striding casually into and around the front room again. She ran her fingertip along a shelf and pretended to examine it for dust, examined a quaint little tea set on a silver tray. Then she caressed the telescope next to the window. 

“How is little Paige? I forgot to ask.”

His eyes narrowed. 

“Grace.” He seethed. “Her name is Grace.”

“Well.” She arched an eyebrow. “The way I see it; she’s not really Grace anymore, is she? Not since I cast my first… what was it… little spell?”

There was murder in his eyes. 

“I will not forget the bruises you left on Emma.” She gave him as a last warning. “Be sure not to provoke me further, lest you push me to make bruises of my own.”

***

_Regina rolled over in bed and reached out._

_The sheets were cool and empty. It was not an uncommon occurrence for her to wake up alone, not when Emma’s work took her outside of Storybrooke all the time. Except Emma had not left for four months._

_And Emma definitely liked to sleep in._

_She grinned at the thought of the woman that had come into her life three years before. Regina had definitely not known what her life had been missing before, but she had found out the minute that frightened half child half woman crept into her house._

_At once timid and brash and shy and crass and rude and eager to please, it had been a breath of fresh air, both her and the baby. Henry was the glue that stuck them together at first, the veritable bridge that allowed them to cooperate with each other, but that had soon changed._

_They worked together seamlessly. No finer example of opposites attract could be found in her brain, but she would not have it any other way._

_Four, five, a dozen years ago, she would have lost her temper, at the very least, at the sight of mess in her sleeping quarters. Back in the old land, someone would have paid dearly. Back in her childhood, it would have been her._

_But then, opening her eyes and looking at the jeans haphazardly thrown over a chair, a pair of boots discarded by the closet, one having fallen over, a hairbrush lying carelessly on the bedside table with an unruly nest of blonde hair curling up out of it… Regina would not have had it any other way._

_Her bare feet sunk into the carpet as she stood up and grabbed her robe._

_Voices floating up from downstairs made her smile and she did not bother with proper toileting, appearance, or presentation. Something she never would have dreamed of before. Something she barely even thought about anymore as she went down the stairs, eager to join her little family._

_Family._

_She finally had one. And her family was just then in the middle of her kitchen, covered in flour and lord knows what else. But they were giggling and Henry was wearing an undersized apron over his footie pajamas with a white powdered streak across his left cheek as he looked up at her and grinned._

_She failed to stop him in time and watched, helplessly, as he lifted his hand to wave at her._

_The hand that held the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the bowl. Flecks of pancake batter spattered the bench and Emma and the tip of Henry’s nose. Regina could not stop herself laughing as he went cross eyed trying to lick it off._

_Emma smeared the patch that had landed across her neck as she grinned sheepishly._

_“We’re making pancakes.”_

_“I can see that.” Regina echoed her smile. “Or trying to, at least.”_

_“We’re making shapes!”_

_The kitchen wafted with the scent of burning butter._

_“Oh.” She raised her eyebrow and looked in the pan. “And what kind of shapes are those?”_

_Emma blushed and she blushed so beautifully._

_“Well, the kid asked for teddy bears and, honestly, I have no idea how you do it, because mine are just coming out like some kind of lumpy alien from the X-Files.”_

_She laughed, long and loud and sincere. Then she went to the third drawer down and retrieved her secret weapon._

_“Hey!” Accused Emma. “Hey, what is that? Is that…? Oh, that’s cheating!”_

_“I am fairly certain that using a pancake mould to make pancakes is hardly cheating, dear.”_

_Emma didn’t quite step aside when Regina pushed her way in front of the pan, but she did make a space between herself and the stove, forcing Regina to squeeze her body in. She did not quite mind the heat pressed against her back or the feel of hot breath on the side of her neck as she scraped the ragged congealing shapes onto a plate._

_“This is how you make pancakes.” Regina expertly buttered the hot surface and then poured a thick stream of batter into the teddy mould. “Pay close attention… closer… Emma.”_

_But Emma was not listening, not if the feel of hot, moist lips opening against her neck was any indication, along with the feel of a hand at her waist, fingers wrapping around her body and pulling her back._

_“Mm.” She leaned her head sideways and nudged Emma’s face up to meet hers kissing the woman soundly before pulling back and licking her lips. “Your batter needs more milk.”_

_Emma grinned._

_And Henry batted the spoon around the large bowl with his chubby three year old hands as he watched them._

***

Henry slowly pierced a piece of pasta with his fork. 

The silence had begun to weigh him down. Not once in his imagination, not once, had he ever pictured this scenario. Both Emma and his mother sitting at the dinner table. Perhaps once or twice he had wondered what things might be like if they had gotten along, but he was not an idiot. They did not get along. 

As proven by the fact of the increasingly awkward and uncomfortable dinner they were having. 

“What’s going on?”

He eventually gave up the pretence and the unexpected sound was too loud in the weight of the quiet that had been smothering them up to that point. Emma dropped her fork and his mother had actually jerked in her seat. 

“On?” Regina queried. “What do you mean?”

Emma merely shook her head at him, eyes wide with an innocence even he could tell was fake. 

“Emma’s here for dinner, she’s staying the night.” He rolled his eyes as if it were obvious, because… well… it was. “And don’t tell me again how Ms Blanchard is too busy to look after her suspected concussion again when you’re the Mayor and she’s a teacher.”

He certainly did not miss the way their eyes connected at a height he suspected was supposed to be over his head. 

A moment of silent argument followed and he frowned even further. 

“You’re right, Henry.” His mother said eventually, her voice emotionless the way it got when she was about to say something he really didn’t want to hear. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

“Regina!” Emma hissed from his right. “Not now!”

He had never seen his mother glare so hard at another person quite the way she glared at Emma. 

“This is going to happen sooner or later, Ms Swan, and I don’t relish the idea of dragging it out any further.”

Emma pushed her plate away and Henry noted it was barely half eaten, a strange phenomenon as even he knew how much Emma liked food. 

“He’s not ready… We… We’re not ready for this.”

And Henry’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline. 

“Oh my god, you two are actually dating!”

The shock on both their faces might have been comical, had he stopped to breathe for a moment. 

“It’s true! Mom, you’ve been acting totally weird about Emma since you learned she was gay. And Emma, you’ve been so much nicer about Mom since then, too. It fits.” 

In the continuing silence, Henry finally calmed down long enough to notice that Emma had bowed her head so that it rested on the wood of the table, her arms folded underneath to cushion it. His mom sat straight backed and tight lipped, with a pale face. 

“Henry.” His mother finally managed to say. “We are not dating.”

He quirked his head. 

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely sure.” Regina said, looking him straight in the eye. “I am not dating Emma, nor would I ever…”

“Well.” Henry spun his head around to look at Emma, red faced and eyes blaring. “You don’t need to sound so sure of that!”

“Emma.” He spun back around to see Regina with her hand up, face blanked out with sincerity. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, I was just…”

“Whatever.” 

Emma threw up her hand and started to walk up the stairs. His mother called up into the air. 

“And stop knocking the photographs out of alignment!” 

Henry looked straight at her. 

“Are you sure you’re not dating?”

***

“You were just going to tell him!”

Regina paused, her hand on the door handle. 

“Yes. I was. Do you really want to do this here?”

There they stood in the middle of the street, the sun beginning to go down and bathing the town in a light blue greyness. The majority of people were already home or sitting down to eat their meals in the diner, the street lights had come on and little pools of light shadowed the road. 

“Well, we couldn’t do it back ho… at your house.”

Letting go of the handle, Regina turned around with a sigh. 

“I’m tired of lying, Emma. When I said I wanted to break this curse, I meant it. You’re right, you were always right. The truth is going to come out anyway and… and…”

Her throat closed up. 

“He’s going to be angry.” Emma finished. “He’s going to be angry no matter which way it happens. You can’t stop it.”

“Exactly. He’s going to be angry and he’s going to hate me and I’m his…”

Emma stepped close, getting right into her space. 

“We, Regina. We are his mothers and you can’t just keep making these decisions for him. You took him away from me for over a year and it’s enough. We will tell him when we are ready. I’m not ready, he is not ready.”

Regina could feel the ground slipping away from her. 

“I’m not ready to lose him.”

Her voice was weak and there was understanding in Emma’s eyes and anger in her snarl. 

“I wasn’t ready! And that didn’t matter to you. This is all your doing, Regina. Let’s just go in there and get some answers.”

Regina held up her hand. 

“Wait.” She swallowed. “I’m not doing this for me. He’s going to hate me and I’m going to lose him, I know this. I’ve known it since you were twenty and he couldn’t even talk.”

Her voice was shaking, she couldn’t stop it, and if she had any choice in the matter at all, the ground would open up and swallow her whole right then and there. Of course, things had never gone her way. 

“I’m doing this for both of you, Emma.” Although the woman’s eyes were narrow and suspicious, her jaw set in stubbornness, Regina could see Emma’s pause, that willingness to listen. “He’s going to lose his mother, Emma, and he’s going to need you. He will need you more than ever and that won’t be possible if he thinks you’ve been lying to him as well.”

Silence. 

She watched the truth sink into the back of Emma’s eyes, hard and incontrovertible. 

“Regina…”

“No.” She brushed off any sympathy that might have come her way. “You are right, this is all my doing. Let’s just get this over with.”

Then she turned back to the door and twisted the knob. 

***

“Well, look who we have here.”

Emma felt chill crawl down her spine at the sound of his voice. Mr Gold. For as long as she’d known him, nine plus one year, she had only ever seen him as a nosy and slightly intimidating antiques dealer that sometimes dabbled in law. Of course, now she knew another truth and she quirked her eyebrows at Regina. 

“Rumplestiltskin.” 

Regina did not even need an explanation to her question.

“Right.” Emma nodded, as if it were commonplace to hear that the old guy down the street was a magical trickster. “Of course it is.”

“And you two.” Gold smirked, glee evident in his face in a way Emma had never seen it before, knowledge sparkling out of his eyes. “Well, the Evil Queen and newly anointed Savior. Although I do sense some dissension in the ranks, trouble in paradise.”

She wanted to step back, leave the cluttered shop and its suffocating interior, wanted to complain and rail at the title given to her when she felt anything but. 

“Enough.” Regina got there first. “We just want to know how to break your curse, that’s all.”

The glee doubled in his eyes as he gestured dramatically to his chest. 

“My curse? I hardly think it was _my_ curse, Dearie.”

“I don’t care whose curse it was.” Emma had had enough and she slammed her fist down on the glass counter. “I just want to know how to break it and get the whole thing over with.”

As if she wasn’t even there or, she thought, if she were just a child Rumple ignored her and gave Regina a knowing look. 

“Fiery, isn’t she? So like her mother.” He giggled, the man actually giggled. “I can just imagine how Snow White will react when she regains her memories and realises what you’ve been doing with her baby daughter.”

He quirked his head to the side. 

“Or was that half the fun?” Without even a glance in her direction, he continued. “Defiling her daughter and laughing all the while about how much sweeter it was in the grand scheme of your revenge?”

They hadn’t talked about it, not really. And Emma knew, she knew it hadn’t been like that. At least, she thought she did. She couldn’t stop herself turning to look at Regina, the question obviously in her eyes. 

Regina slammed her hand on the counter, nearly in the same place Emma’s had been. Her jaw was clenched. 

“It wasn’t like that.” She spat the words at Gold and then turned to Emma, her face blanking out from anger to more of a plea. “Emma, it wasn’t…”

But she just shook her head. 

“He’s playing us, Regina.” Because she might be new to magic and fairy tales and this entire curse scenario, but she wasn’t new to the world and manipulations and mind games. “You know he is.”

Of course he was and of course they knew. His eyes flickered between them like a tennis match he had betted money on, invested in the outcome. 

Emma turned so she was fully facing the counter, laying her palms flat on the glass, slowly this time, remaining perfectly in control as she leaned forward. 

“Now tell us what we need to know.”

Mr Gold, who apparently was otherwise known as Rumplestiltskin, leaned back and gave a half-hearted shrug. 

“I’m not sure why you’re asking me, Princess, when your Queen there knows exactly how to do it.”

“No.” Regina shook her head and waved her hand in front of her in negation. “I’m talking seriously, Rumple. How do we seriously break it?”

He turned and picked up a tray, bringing it to the counter in front of them. Emma and Regina watched in silence as he spooned a mix of herbs into a pot, then turned again to pick up a steaming kettle. He calmly poured the water over the herbs and hummed gently as he did it. 

When he turned again, he gracefully carried a small, delicate tea cup and a tiny spoon on a saucer. 

“And I’ll say it again.” He sipped his cup of tea carefully. “Her Majesty right here knows exactly how to break a curse.”

Emma couldn’t stop herself. 

“What does he mean, Regina? What’s he talking about?”

Regina’s face had gone pale. Her jaw clenched in anger as she shot daggers at the man in front of them. She shook her head once, then twice, then breathed in and heaved a tired, resigned sigh. 

“Love.” It came out like a whisper, afraid and defeated. “True love. It will break any curse.”

And Rumplestiltskin chuckled in delight. 

“True love’s kiss, to be more precise.” Then he made a shooing motion with his hands. “Now off you go, go break your curse.”

Emma looked at Regina, who was looking back at her. 

Well, _shit_.

***


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of course it’s not true love!”
> 
> The words echoed around the room, louder than he’d meant them. Louder, he was sure, than he had actually said them. The effect of them reverberated around the flinch of Emma’s face, the stuttered gasp of his mother, the way Emma stepped back as if on instinct drawing her limbs in close and the way Regina’s face shut down, eyes closed and lips drawn taut. 
> 
> “Right.” Emma’s voice wobbled. “Because _that_ would be ridiculous, huh? Someone loving me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Yeah, I got nothing. Those of you who know me or follow me on tumblr, you know I've been having a really tough time of things emotionally. I do not believe this chapter is anything different or worse than has already been in this fic, but I found this one particularly difficult to write. Which I believe is more internal than anything to do with the fic itself. ANYWAY... here it is. Sorry for the delay. I cannot promise any changes in my schedule for updates, but we can always hope, right?
> 
> **A/N:** Check the ratings change. Nothing too saucy, but... better be safe than sorry, right? At least this chapter might actually EARN the Swan Queen listing this fic has had since Ch 1.
> 
> **A/N:** It's not Easter, but you might find an Easter Egg in this fic somewhere. :)

The house was dark when they arrived home. 

Emma had taken off her boots, put her keys in the dish by the side table, hung up her coat, and was well on her way to the study where she would flick the light switch without even looking before she stopped. Her upper lip caught between her teeth. 

She did not look at Regina, but she could feel the silence weigh down heavy on both of them. 

They hadn’t looked at each other once since leaving Gold’s shop. 

“I’m going to get some wine.” Regina announced to Emma’s back. “Would you like some?”

Yes. No. A dozen bottles of beer and a sledgehammer might be nice. 

“I’m fine.” She answered quietly. 

Neither of them mentioned the easy routine or the second nature that came with it, the memories no longer buried. They certainly did not mention the heavy atmosphere that had followed them home, sat between them in the car, and traced sticky, unwelcome fingers across their skin. 

She watched Regina stand in the doorway, crystal in her right hand, watched as the dark red liquid swirled in the bowl of the glass, a tidal wave in miniature. 

Regina’s shoulders were slumped and the corner of her eyes were creased. All signs of exhaustion that would not be shown normally. Once upon a time, the signs than only she would have been privy to. 

She trod so carefully, so cautiously, that Regina did not hear her approach until she was standing right in front of her, able to reach up and take the glass out of her hand. 

Emma leaned to the side and placed it on a side table, ignoring the slight tremor that crinkled in Regina’s fingers as her hand hovered empty in mid-air before they curled into a fist. 

“Let’s do this.” 

Dark eyes flew up to meet hers, wide with disbelief, question, and the slightest bit of hope. 

It was the hope that stabbed Emma the hardest.

“Don’t…” Regina began, but bit her lip to pause a moment and then reconsider. “We don’t have to. You don’t have to.”

We. You. Nothing about I. Emma knew in that moment what Regina’s choice would be. 

Three, five, eight years ago they thought nothing of Emma stepping forward, crashing into Regina’s personal space, pushing in so that Regina stepped back. Breathing air. Feeling skin and body parts and heat, so much body heat between them. They had even pressed against the very same door jamb. 

Emma looked Regina straight in the eyes until she could bare it no more, then let her eyes drop just in time to the last second of Regina’s tongue as it finished licking her lips and disappeared back between them. 

She pressed her mouth against Regina and let her eyes flutter closed. Familiar scents and emotions washed through her, the feel of hot breath streaming out of nostrils against her face, the soft shake of Regina’s hand coming up to cup the side of her face. 

Emma kept her eyes closed and waited. 

Regina’s thumb scratched gentle strokes against her chin and Emma let her hand rise to slide into the hair at the base of Regina’s neck. 

They were kissing. 

It had been a long time, she felt as if it had been a lifetime, since they had done this. 

They were kissing and Emma… 

Emma felt nothing. 

She stepped back eventually, unwilling to meet the eyes she knew would be watching her. 

“Well that…”

A sigh made her look up, Regina looked dazed, upset, and confused, her right hand fingering her lower lip, stroking the skin there. 

“That was…”

Emma shrugged helplessly and watched as the mask finally slid over Regina’s face. 

“That was not true love.” Came the deadened, emotionless reply. “I guess Rumplestiltskin is out of luck.”

***

They were home. 

Henry had known they were home. He’d heard them come in, heard the quiet, muffled voices of conversation downstairs, had heard his mother walk to her room and shut the door with a finality that bode well for no one. 

And then he’d heard the stomp of Emma, boots that fell with a careless disregard for others in the house, the heavy sigh, and the soft, but definite click of her door. 

He would have gotten nowhere with his Mom. He’d known that. They hadn’t been talking much anymore and when they did, he felt his skin crawling with the lies. The Evil Queen. She was the Queen, he’d known that; it was as plain as day. He couldn’t quite understand how nobody else could see it. 

But Emma, there was something with Emma and he could feel it. 

She knew something and he wanted to know it, too. 

Which was why he opened her door without even bothering to knock. 

“Geez, kid!” Emma was on the bed, her knees drawn up under her chin, but she scrambled with limbs flailing when she saw him. “You can’t just burst in.”

Her eyes were red and her skin pale. Tear streaks dried on her cheeks and she’d obviously been crying, but it was not her face that Henry focused on. Not right then. 

It was the photos she’d been looking at, that fell scattered over the bedspread and floor. The photos she was not quick enough to hide from him. The photos that could not possibly exist. 

He picked one up, rescued it from her desperate scrambling, scrunching his face as he bought it up to look at the people within. People that he knew on sight, people that should never have been in a photograph together. Not at that time. Not at any time within his memory. 

And yet. 

There they were. 

His mother, smiling, and Emma also smiling, and he was between them. Smiling the gap toothed smile of a seven year old. 

“Henry…?”

He heard her voice, soft and cautious and afraid. 

“It’s true.” It came out like a whisper. “It’s all true.”

She reached for him, slowly, hand landing on his shoulder as if afraid she would spook him. 

“Henry, I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

He could see it in her. Fear. She was afraid. Not of scaring him, he suddenly realised as he looked right through her eyes, but of his reaction. She was expecting him to yell at her, to be angry, to… 

To treat her the same way he’d treated his mother when he suspected the truth about her. 

“Henry?”

His mother. He looked at the photo in his hand. Two. Regina. And Emma. His other mother. 

She’d told him. At the time, of course, she’d believed it to be a hallucination caused by the head injury. They’d all believed it to be false. And she’d woven tales, careful beautiful lovely tales that made him _want_ , that made him yearn for the life she’d discussed. 

Happy, together, the three of them.

And it was true. 

It was true. 

And his mother had ripped it from both of them. 

It was true, his mother had ripped their history from them, and the only way for her to have done that was for her to be the Evil Queen she’d denied being since he’d opened the book. 

He’d known. He’d known it, he’d been saying it for months now. Amidst everyone treating him like he was some sort of fragile broken thing for imagining an impossible world. He’d had to see Archie, he’d seen the pitying looks in Archie’s eyes. 

He’d heard… 

“You called me crazy.”

Soft, whispered, disbelieving. 

“No.” It came out rushed and loud, before Emma took a breath in. “Well, yes, I did, but I didn’t know. Not then. I didn’t remember.”

Henry’s fingers crumpled and he felt it, felt the stiff resin coated gloss in his hand bend, a sharp crease pressing against the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. He could imagine the sick, taunting smiles of the images bending, twisting, warping as he squeezed. 

“Henry!” It was a hiss, a soft panicked exhalation in his ear as he felt her reach for it, felt her try to pry it from his grasp. “Henry, please, don’t… give it back, please, Henry.”

“She lied.” 

He almost scared himself with how dull his voice sounded. He suspected it should have been angry or upset or something. But it wasn’t. It was strangely flat. 

“Please.” It was the crack in her voice, the plea, the broken little sob he heard that broke him out of it and he looked down to see her kneeling at his side, both hands trying to pry his fingers open. “Henry…”

His fingers released as if by their own accord and he watched as she gasped, gripping the creased photo desperately and pressing it to the ground. He watched her frantically smooth the shiny picture over and over again. 

“It’s all I have” She said without looking up. “They’re all I have.”

There was a sound behind him, he could not say what it was, a rush of air, a footstep, the creak of the door, but he knew his mother had come from her room and was watching the scene. He should have spoken, he should have turned and pushed her away, should have done something, but all he could do was watch as Emma leant over the photo and brushed it over and over with her fingers. 

Too soft now to be flattening it, just touching the surface. 

“You have us.”

It was all he could manage.

“I had you.” She spat the words out, a cover for the break that rolled against the tightness of her throat, the shake in it. “But you don’t remember, you don’t. And she doesn’t love me anymore. But this… this is proof that it happened. Once.”

“Emma.”

Henry had never heard that thickness in his mother’s voice before, the heavy sound of regret and horror and sadness. He turned to look at Regina standing in the doorway, one hand raised up to cover her mouth. 

He was not sure what he expected just then, something between the two of them, some sort of sign that they could be the women in the photo he’d seen. Two people happy with each other, the women from the stories he’d heard. 

A family. Or something. 

“It’s okay. I get it.” But Emma had shut down, body going still and voice turning as flat and emotionless as Henry’s had been moments before. “You don’t have to love me anymore, you don’t even have to like me, but you do have to respect me, Regina.” 

It happened in slow motion, silent and heavy slow motion, as Emma stood, gathered all the fallen pictures, and carefully put them back into the box on top of the bed without turning around to look at either of them. 

“These are mine.” She turned from the box she was hovering over, to gesture at the room. “This… this room was mine.”

When she finally opened her eyes and looked at him, Henry felt his throat close up. 

“You were mine.” She was gesturing at them both. “My family. And now you’re not. So, please, give me time to grieve, okay?”

“I am.” He tried, and his voice sounded shaky and young and unsure, he hated it, breathed in to expand his chest, make himself bigger so his words would be bigger too. “I’m yours, Emma.”

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, supportive and familiar and unwanted, he shook it off. 

“No.” But Emma would not be calmed, her hand shook as she reached out to cup his chin. “Not like you were. Not like I want. Not like…”

Her chin wobbled and he hated it, loathed it. It confused him, made him want to shut his eyes, made him want to run, because he had a mother standing behind him who had never let him see weakness his entire life and a mother in front of him who had been strong and large in his eyes, built up as the literal hero. 

And she was breaking down. She was crumbling in front of him and she shouldn’t do that. Parents should not do that. Even new ones. 

Even old ones that felt new. 

“I do not have my girlfriend, I do not have my son, and now I will never have my parents, because I can’t even do the one thing I was born for. The one reason Henry even wanted me here. Congratulations, I’m officially useless.”

She brushed past him then, not rudely, not roughly, but quickly, a desperate need to get away and he would have reached out to stop her, except that while his body was moving in slow motion, his brain was not. 

“You kissed her.” He said it with wonder and did not miss the expression of horror on Emma’s face as she turned around. “You said you can’t do it, means you tried, and the only way to break a curse is with true love.”

“Henry.” Regina placed her hands on his shoulders now, firmer than before, not allowing him to shake her off. “Don’t. Not now.”

“Of course it’s not true love!”

The words echoed around the room, louder than he’d meant them. Louder, he was sure, than he had actually said them. The effect of them reverberated around the flinch of Emma’s face, the stuttered gasp of his mother, the way Emma stepped back as if on instinct drawing her limbs in close and the way Regina’s face shut down, eyes closed and lips drawn taut. 

“Right.” Emma’s voice wobbled. “Because _that_ would be ridiculous, huh? Someone loving me?”

“No!” Henry pulled out of his mother’s grip and reached for Emma, putting his hand back down when she flinched from him. “Because look at you, look at both of you. You’re so angry at each other. And this is true. It’s all true! You just learned the truth. Of course it’s not love when you can’t even like each other.”

Emma was not looking at him then, her eyes fixed at a point above his head. He could feel the answering heat of Regina’s stare behind him. The moment ended when she shook her head. 

“I… I have to go.”

And then Emma stepped backwards, once, twice, until she was out of the room, until her footsteps could be heard treading down the stairs, followed by the opening and closing of the front door. 

He tried to follow, but Regina’s hands came back. 

“Let her go.” Now it was Regina’s turn to have the tremble in her voice. “She needs time.”

Henry closed his eyes. 

He remembered smiling. He remembered laughter. And singing. And brushing his teeth. And reading stories. And learning to ride his bike. He remembered a lot of good times with her, so many of them, before he’d learned of his adoption. 

Now he wondered how many of those memories were real, how many of them were supposed to be shared with Emma as well. 

“So do I.”

And he walked out of the room without looking back. 

***

The docks.

Of course Emma would flee to the docks. Regina rolled her eyes even as she gathered her coat around her shoulders and tried to keep in the heat. She was no longer wearing heels, had long ago changed them for flat comfortable shoes, so her footsteps did not quite have the distinct clicking she liked to announce her presence. 

She strode to the seats, having seen the shivering bundle as soon as she’d turned onto the esplanade. There were no words to say, they had said them long before and saying them again was futile, but she hoped that her actions at least would not provoke a further outcry. 

The jacket was warm and heavy as she laid it over Emma’s shoulders. There was no shouting, only a small ruffling of Emma’s body that Regina chose to take as her snuggling into the warmth. 

“You left very quickly.”

There was no real point to looking towards the ocean. The night was inky black and clouds had shaded the moon. She could hear the waves rippling and breaking on the shore, but she could not see them. She could barely see a few feet past the yellow circle of streetlight they sat in. 

Uncovering the package from her other hand, she laid the shoes down on the ground and pressed a new pair of socks over the top. 

“And without your boots as well. I imagine your feet are both wet and filthy.”

A small huff sounded next to her. It might have been a laugh or it might have been a sneer.

She could not tell. 

“I know you’re angry right now, and you have every right to be. But Henry needs you.” Regina sat up straight and squared her shoulders. “He has locked himself in his room and will not come out, I assume, until you return. The confirmation of his suspicions has hit him hard.”

Her hand ached with the need to reach out. 

To reach out and pull Henry back. To grasp hold of Emma and keep holding until she stopped running away. Anything. But she kept it clamped shut in a fist against her abdomen. 

“It was stupid.” Emma’s voice crackled as if she hadn’t spoken in days. “So stupid.”

She quirked her head, but did not have time to ask as Emma continued. 

“I knew it wouldn’t work.” A scoff, derisive and pitiful. “True love. Yeah, right.”

“Emma, don’t. Don’t do this to yourself. Henry was right, there is too much between us right now for anything we feel to be true or pure.”

A snort followed, an exhalation of air that puffed in a barely visible white cloud in front of Emma’s face. 

“And obviously before nothing was true, either.”

Regina closed her eyes. She saw eyes smiling at her half a foot in front of her face, lying down in their shared bed, night after night. She saw a hand carelessly swiping milk from a grinning chin over a cereal bowl countless times over breakfast. She saw a never ending parade of gifts and anniversaries and arguments and celebrations. 

Except that it had ended. 

“Of course not. It cannot be true when one person does not know who the other is.” She opened her eyes and looked at the side of Emma’s face, her eyes travelled the curve of jawbone, the divot underneath the ear lobe, and the small feathery wisps of hair that never sat properly. “But if you’re asking whether or not what I felt for you was true; it was.”

She waited, but there was no answer. Her throat closed around the words she wanted to ask. They wanted to be spoken, wanted… wanted so desperately for the answer. She thought she knew it, believed it, had to… 

Of course she knew the answer. Hoped she knew. 

Regina did not ask about Emma’s feelings before she finally gave a sigh and stood up.

“You need time and space and I wish I could respect that, Emma, but your son needs you.”

***

_Emma sighed as her eyes glazed over. She had to shake her head to clear it, to stop squinting at the papers in front of her._

_The office was greying around the edges, the air turned cool without her noticing. It had been hours since she had spoken to anybody and her stomach was slightly nauseously empty. She’d eaten lunch, but had forgotten dinner._

_Her fingers grasped the top page, crinkling it slightly, before she let it go. Softly, ever so softly that it was really only a dull thud, her head hit the desk and she groaned._

_“Working late, Dear?”_

_She blinked as she raised her head, squinting at the doorway._

_“What?” Admittedly, yes, she had never been the most eloquent person when sleepy. Regina had reminded her of that fact often and mercilessly. “I mean… yeah, but it’s Tuesday, I have night shift…”_

_Regina only laughed, a soft tinkling sound of indulgent amusement more than mockery. A distinction she had learned well lately._

_“I know. I’m just teasing. I bought you some dinner, I figured you would stuff yourself full of stale baked goods from Granny’s if left to your own devices.”_

_She eyed the Tupperware container with undisguised glee. Her stomach decided to join the party and rumbled loudly. Reaching out, she flexed her fingers in and out childishly and completed the gesture with an exaggerated pout._

_“Gimme, gimmme, gimme!”_

_For her part, Regina’s lip curled up in a smirk as she stalked over._

_“Henry is asleep and Graham is waiting with him until I return, so I can’t stay late.”_

_The silence that followed that statement was not as awkward as it could have been, mostly due to the ferocious way Emma had grasped the container and cutlery and begun devouring the still warm casserole presented to her. She chose to ignore the quick stab of jealousy as the petty thing it was._

_Elbows out, arms surrounding the container in a way that Regina had tried to nag out of her, Emma merely groaned a muffled agreement. She trusted Regina, she did, and any history she might have had with her boss was history, she had accepted that and moved on. Certainly there was not many other options if they both had to leave the house for any reason at night._

_Subtly, as subtly as she could at any rate, she shuffled the papers out of eyesight and back into their manila folder. The edges had crumpled over time, faded, slight cracks appearing in the weathered folder._

_They had not spoken about it in a long time and the last time they had it had not gone well._

_By the narrowed look in Regina’s eyes, she had seen._

_“Night shift does not seem to agree with you, Dear.”_

_Emma shrugged._

_“It’s quiet. Nothing’s going on. I’m bored.”_

_Stomach full, Emma slowed down her gastronomical orgy and looked up. Regina’s eyes were watching her, sizing her up._

_“It’s not…” Emma’s voice faded, lost their strength from statement to question. “… anything?”_

_Carefully, purposefully, Regina pulled over a spare chair in front of Emma’s desk and sat down. She picked up the silver nameplate that sat on the edge of the desk and fidgeted, turning it over and over in her hands as she stared down._

_Emma Swan, Deputy._

_“I didn’t realise you were still caught up in that.”_

_Regina did not meet her eyes and Emma, once thankful for her now full tummy, instantly regretted the heavy sinking that replaced it._

_“I was just looking.”_

_She felt, suddenly, like a child being scolded, having been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She was a grown woman, she didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. There was nothing wrong with…_

_“You know how you get.” Regina said, gently, carefully, as if trying to settle a wild animal. “They don’t want to be found, Emma. You’re better off without them.”_

_“I know.”_

_Emma did know. She knew. She had a life here, a family, a house, a girlfriend, a son, friends, and a community. Her entire childhood had been spent wanting that exact thing. There should be nothing she could possibly need from anyone else._

_And yet…_

_“Why?” It came out pathetic and weak and much needier than she ever liked to sound. “Why would they…?”_

_Too many questions with no answers. Why would they give her up in the first place? Why would they hide their identities so carefully as to never be found?_

_Emma had used all her sources as a bailbondsperson, and then as a deputy, to track down the elusive parents. There was no mention anywhere. No unaccounted mysterious pregnancies near the area at the time of her birth. No missing people that could be traced to a hidden birth. No girls or women suddenly appearing at nearby hospitals for treatment consistent with having given birth._

_No missing children, no kidnappings. No runaway teens that hadn’t been accounted for and dismissed._

_She had ruled out any and every viable option that had presented itself._

_And it hurt. It hurt a lot._

_Every time she looked at Henry; it ached. When she watched him playing, when she laughed with him, bathed him, tucked him in at night, taught him to use his tricycle, shopped for new clothes because he had outgrown the last, each and every time she revelled in her love for him, it ached somewhere deep._

_“It wasn’t about you, Emma.” She looked up to see Regina’s warm, brown, sympathetic eyes watching her. “You have to remember that. Whatever happened during and before your birth, it had nothing to do with you. There are so many possible reasons why your parents were not able to keep you and none of them were about you.”_

_The same words. Regina had said them to her many times._

_Emma’s hands found themselves in her hair, twisting into the strands and pulling slightly so she could feel the tug, the precursor to pain, as she bowed her head._

_“I know.” It sounded cracked and broken to her ears, muffled under the shade cloth of her hair that had fallen around her face. “I’m sorry, I know you said to leave it, I said I would, but… I just…”_

_She heard the footsteps before she felt the warm hand on her shoulder._

_“It’s okay.” Regina’s words came warm and even in her ear, the heat of her body shortened and Emma felt her crouching down next to her and was grateful for the comfort. “It’s only natural to wonder, but…”_

_There was a pause. They were tricky waters. There had been more than a few arguments about it in the past. Emma had a tendency to become obsessed with finding her parents and Regina had stopped encouraging her a long time ago._

_“You need to stop breaking yourself down over it. There are some questions that will never be answered and you can let them wear you down or you can enjoy what you have.”_

_Emma didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the side and slid her hands around Regina’s neck, over her skin, until she cupped her jaw. She drew Regina in for a kiss, slow and chaste and thankful._

_“You’re always looking out for me.” Emma whispered. “Where would I be without you?”_

_Regina did not reply._

***

Henry crumpled up a sweater and shoved it into the cramped backpack with a vengeance. 

He searched the room again, checking to see if he’d left anything of import. His eyes purposefully glazed over the large brown book on his desk. He didn’t want it anymore. He didn’t want to open the pages and see the illustrations or the words that made up horrid, horrid histories. 

Words he had scanned and memorised before. 

It was true. It was all true. 

He’d known, somewhere down deep, he’d known. But there had always been the lingering doubt; that little niggle every time one of the adults around him hinted at the fact he was crazy for believing, sometimes they outright said it. 

Tears threatening to leak, traitorous and hot from his eyes. He set his jaw and clenched his teeth, refusing to let them fall. 

There were memories in his head he could not trust anymore. His entire life was a lie. 

Not only had his mother been the Evil Queen, not only had she cursed an entire land to this one, stripped them of their happy endings, not only had she done it to them, but she had done it to _him_. 

It was no longer an abstract fairy tale, it was his life. 

His memories were happy, he’d been happy, but he remembered when it turned. When he had begun to see cracks in the surface and dug deeper. Adoption. That deep indescribable yearning for something he had never known he had needed. 

But he’d had it all the time. It wasn’t a random, sudden want he’d discovered along with the knowledge of an abstract birth mother. It was the ache of a missing limb, a second mother he’d had his entire life. 

That indescribable thump he’d felt when Emma had first opened the door. He’d put it down to some vague connection between birth mother and child. But it wasn’t that, it hadn’t been that; that brief visceral moment he’d opened the door something inside him had recognised her. 

He had to get out of here, he had to get away from her, he had to… 

A knock sounded on his door, loud and strident. 

“Go away.”

“Henry.” It wasn’t Regina, it was Emma, and his hands fell soft and limp to the bed. “It’s me. Open the door, please.”

Of course he did. 

She strode in, face flushed and eyes worried, and he watched as she stopped stock still and stared at the backpack on his bed. 

“You’re running away?” She turned towards him, half frantic and half accusatory. “Where were you going to go this late at night? There are no buses running! Jesus, Henry!”

But he was in no way about to back down. 

“I wasn’t! I wasn’t running away.” He protested. “I was running with. With you! We have to leave, Emma! We have to get out of here.”

She fell to her knees in front of him, her hands on his shoulders. 

“No, Kid, no. Just… we can’t run.”

He felt it bubble up in his chest, hot and putrid and needing escape. 

“We’re not running away. I’m going to live with you! And Mary Margaret, Snow White.” And then, as if she could possibly have forgotten, he clarified the issue. “Your mother.”

The fingers on his shoulders tightened the smallest bit, enough for him to feel it. He could see her jaw working as her expression flickered, deciding what to say and how. 

“We have to stay here right now.”

It came out slow and insufficiently. 

“But she’s evil.” The words came hissed out of his mouth, unbelieving, not quite sure just when Emma had lost all cognitive reasoning. “She’s the Evil Queen and she’s going to hurt you.”

He didn’t say what they were both thinking; that she’d already hurt Emma, that she’d already hurt him, hurt them both. That was obvious. It was in Emma’s eyes that she understood what he was saying, but he could see the stubborn set of her jaw, the determined glint in her eyes. 

“Yeah, she was the Evil Queen, I’m not going to lie to you on that. I can barely get my head around it, myself.” She shook his shoulders softly, urging him to look her in the face for her next words. “If that book is even remotely true; she took so many things from so many people, she took the most important thing away from me, and from you.”

It was her eyes he could not look away from, the begging behind them, the watery weakness that threatened to fall. 

“But right now? She’s our best chance of getting that back, Henry. She’s trying to help break the curse. And I don’t know about you, but I have jack all experience with this type of thing. So unless you know what to do; she’s our only option.”

It was logical. It made sense. He knew it did. 

“I hate her.” It came hissing and seething out of his mouth. “I hate her.”

Emma took her right hand off his shoulder and laid it on the top of his head, cupped his scalp and drew it down the side, sliding her palm over the contours of his bones. Her eyes scanned him, from eye to eye, side to side, head to toe and back again. 

“I know it feels that way, Henry. I was there, too. But in my experience; nobody is purely evil and nobody is ever all good. I don’t care what that book says, because I remember our life here and you loved that woman. For good reason. You loved her and you can’t forget that.”

Emma was not the only one that could set her jaw. 

“I can’t remember it, either.”

She sighed, but said nothing as she stood and backed out of his room. 

The door shut with a click and he kicked his toe into the carpet, frustrated and angry and confused and saddened. 

But he unpacked his backpack. 

***

Emma came down the stairs reluctantly. 

She was torn between staying up with Henry, staying alone in the spare room, or meeting Regina in the study. 

As much as she wanted, and also loathed the idea, to stay with Henry and continue talking at him about his mother, she knew what he needed now was space and time. She’d said her piece, reminded him gently about their past, and could do nothing more except turn her words into a nagging rant that he would shut out completely. It was not fair to expect him to jump on board immediately, just because she had already had weeks to get used to the idea. 

Weeks, several arguments, a few drunken nights, a lot of mistakes, a traumatic and surreal experience of being held hostage by a madman, and an onslaught of undeniable memories. 

Emma was still unsure how she felt about Regina, in terms of trust or forgiveness or their history, but she had to admit that she was more open to the idea of working with her now than she had been previously. 

He would get there; he had to get there. 

In the study, however, was Regina in the flesh and she did not know how to cope with that. Did not know how to parse the instinctual urge to forgive and touch and love and take comfort from, especially given that it was imbued completely with distrust and pain and betrayal and fear. 

The fear was new. 

But the book was just descriptive enough that Emma could not wipe the details from her mind. 

She just did not know if the new information, the brutal truth, was enough to completely obliterate nine years of her memories. People could change; she had changed. It was a tenant that she lived by. 

The line was too muddy to decipher; just how much of Regina the person, the mother, the lover was left and how much Regina the Evil Queen, murderer and sorceress and curse caster was mixed in. 

Emma entered the study without looking up, her back to the door, and slid down until she sat on the floor. 

“Emma?”

The voice was there, same as all her memories, curious and worried and cautious. 

She shook her head as she let it rest on the tops of her knees. 

“Emma, look at me?”

She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She was afraid to. 

And the fear galled her. 

“Is Henry alright?”

“Yes.” She found her voice, muffled into the stuffy vee of space made by her abdomen and thighs. “He was packing to move out, but I stopped him.”

The only sound to answer her was a crystalline tinkle that suggested ice against a glass. Cider, she figured, or whisky. If Regina was stressed she drank cider. If she was close to breaking point, she moved to the harder liquor. Emma did not want to garner any kind of guess. 

She thought of moving, thought of the scant possessions she had tracked from one major city to the next, the pressing need to move and run and escape and get out. She thought of weeding a garden and marking a child’s height on the same space of wall year after year. 

Thought of foster homes and disapproving eyes and the disappointed expression of her social workers during each transition, thought of the scant bland meals of group homes and the empty sick hollowness of watching another child find a family. 

She thought of wishing, of needing, of hunger, of yearning, of whispered frantic bargaining in the middle of the night to some unseen and unknown power. 

Emma clutched her scalp, fingers digging into the skin and pressing against the bone, tightened her hold to pain for a moment, then released it. 

“Was I so bad?” Her voice sounded small and inconsequential. “What made me so disposable?”

The door was at her back and the floor underneath her, she had made herself small in the corner, hidden in the shell of her body, but she could feel the immensity of the air around her. In front of her, alongside her, above her, and she could definitely feel the shifting of space that signified movement. 

“I could say sorry.” Regina spoke, voice heavy, stopping about a foot in front of her and crouched down. “I could say it a thousand times, again and again until my throat was hoarse, and never once be able to express how truly sorry I am.”

Emma was tired. 

“You know it; I know you know it, Emma. It wasn’t about you; not like that, never like that.”

Emma was empty. 

“I did it to save you, Emma, I’ve told you that before and it was true, but…” Her ears pricked at the creaking sound of brutal honesty in Regina’s voice. “… but I did it to save me, too. I was selfish, I was scared, I panicked and I made the wrong choice.”

She closed her eyes. She did not want to hear the words and yet she did. 

Two warm hands covered her knees. 

“I knew immediately, the very second you were gone, I knew how awful it was. If I could have changed it, taken it back, I would have then and there. Please.”

It was black, behind her lids, but she could see dark purples and bursts of deep red, they pulsed with her heart beat, thump, thump, thump, unable to react. 

“I hurt you, I hurt you andi Henry, the two people I should have protected. It was awful and wrong and, yes, evil. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and that’s saying something. But Emma, I hurt myself, too.”

Emma was hollow.

And hurting. And hungry. 

“I blinked and you were gone. I know… I know it hurt you that I was with Graham, but I didn’t make a decision to choose him after you. My history was rewritten the way yours was. It included him. And I couldn’t change it.”

Hungry for warmth and affection and her memories. Hungry to be needed, to be wanted, to be free of the ties that kept her here and free of the urges telling her to flee. 

“You killed him.” The first words she could say were an accusation. “You slept with him for years, then killed him after he kissed me.”

Emma no longer cared about the partners she’d had in her rewrite, nor any Regina had in her absence, but if one little mistake that she hadn’t even encouraged, one kiss with her had caused his… if she had been n any way responsible…

“He was remembering!” Regina bit the words out. “Was it easy watching him chase you? No. But I wouldn’t have killed him for it, Emma. He was remembering that other land and he would have… he would have bought it all down around me.”

Regina’s hands left Emma’s knees and, instead, came down over the back of her head. Such a familiar touch, a caring gesture. One she would have cried to receive. 

“Everything I had worked for would have been for nothing. I would have sacrificed you for nothing. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

Emma flattened her hands together, straight up, and pushed her fingers between Regina’s wrists, effectively pushing them up and off her. 

“Don’t touch me!”

Emma was tired and hollow and empty and hungry. 

“What do you want from me?” The force of her movement had pushed Regina backwards. “I can’t figure it out!”

She did not give any room for recovery and, as Regina fell, she followed. Regina’s hands landed behind her to hold her up, her feet flat out in front of her as she sat stunned. Emma pushed herself up from the door, onto her haunches, and further. Fell forward until her face was in front of Regina’s. 

“You hate me, you can’t stand me, you love me, you beg my forgiveness, you push me back, you kiss me. What?” Her hands landed on top of Regina’s and it pushed them both until Regina was leaning back and Emma was on top of her. “Pick one of them and stick with it, Regina! What do you want?”

A beat as they stared at each other, their eyes did not leave each other’s, yet Emma could see everything, see all of Regina. Her usually perfect hair in disarray, the scar on her lip, the quivery of her nostrils as she breathed in and out through her nose, the hint of white teeth threatening to break through a gap between her lips, the flush of her cheeks, the curve of her ear lobe, the downy peach hairs along her face. 

“You.” It came out like a hot whisper against her mouth. “Always you.”

***

_She entered through the back door._

_The rear of the house was empty and quiet, Regina shucked her heels and stretched her toes out on the tiled floor, sliding the stockings along the cool finish. The balls of her feet pushed into the tile and she hummed a quiet approval at the pressure._

_Further into the house, she heard the quiet drone of voices and smiled._

_“That’s a lot of pink, Henry.”_

_Amused and cheerful, Emma’s voice floated gently through the air._

_“Mm hmm.” Soft and higher pitched, her son’s hum agreed. “It’s a love heart.”_

_“I can see that.” Underneath the voices, there came the small scratching sound of pencils. “You’ve done a lot of hearts.”_

_Paper rustled as Regina tip toed to the living room door._

_“It’s a lot of love.” Henry answered her, seriously and honestly, busily colouring the page in front of him. “That’s what mother’s day is for.”_

_She could feel her chest melt into a warm, gooey pile of mush. Her head came to rest against the door jamb and she was content to just listen in to her family, her world, the reason for her happiness._

_“It certainly is.” Agreed Emma, still cheerful. “But I don’t know if your mom really likes pink all that much.”_

_Scribble._

_Scribble. Scribble._

_“Oh, I know.” The sound of paper shifting and being rearranged hit her ears. “That’s why I drew her in blue.”_

_Emma was a good mother. She loved her son and encouraged him in everything he did. It was no surprise to Regina to find her sat down and colouring with Henry. Emma often made it a point to give Henry everything she’d never had and always wished for as a child._

_Which was why the choked sound of surprise being coughed back made Regina’s eyes widen._

_“Oh!” Cough. “Oh, Henry, that’s…”_

_“That’s[Mom as a vampire](http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q152/wily_one24/f1f1facc-a4f8-43cb-b06b-359c71f54f67_zps5fywsqcl.jpg).” Henry said calmly. “With fangs, and rocket boots, with spikes on the side. And guns.”_

_There was the high sound of laughter in Emma’s voice, but disguised enough that Regina knew Henry would not pick up on it._

_“Wow, Kid, that’s so awesome. I cannot wait for mother’s day when you give these to her. They’re way better than anything I could have made.”_

_“Don’t worry.” Henry was quickly serious and conciliatory and comforting. “She knows you love her, too.”_

_There was a squeal and the sound of shuffling movement and Regina would recognise the sound of tickling anywhere and anytime. The resulting laughter washed over her and she grinned._

_“That I do, Kid, that I do.”_

***

There is a world of want and pain and anger between them and, for a moment, Regina thought about being afraid, sitting there as Emma leaned over her as close as she was. Her eyes flickered back and forth across Emma’s, left to right, as she tried to read them. 

She should apologise, she should take the words back, she should do something, anything, because Emma hated feeling trapped. It did not matter that Regina was the one underneath, the retaliation would be harsh and severe. 

The last thing she needed, the last thing she could cope with right then, was Emma lashing out and hurting her even more than she had already been hurt. 

Henry had learned the truth and she knew she had lost him; she had lost Emma twice, three times over already, again and again. She wanted, in that moment, wished that everything would just stop. Be over. That the curse would break and the harshest punishment be dealt and be over with, just so that it would all end. 

And then… 

She fell back with a thump as Emma’s mouth collided with hers, her whole body surging forward as it landed on Regina. 

Regina lay stunned for a second, until clarity returned and her hands came up to hold the sides of Emma’s head, her mouth opening under the onslaught and that was what she remembered. That was them, their history, their kiss; that was their feeling, a thousand times more passionate than the bland one they’d shared in the same room mere hours before. 

A knee jostled between her legs and Regina moaned her approval as Emma’s right hand slipped down over her shoulder, along her arm to her hip, to slide in under her blouse. Hot fingertips grazed the skin of her hips jerked up. 

“Emma.” Her breath came hot and heavy, gasping, when her mouth was finally free, when Emma leaned back just far enough to move to the side, then latched down on the side of her neck. “Oh god, Emma, please.”

Please slow down, please never stop touching me, please don’t take this away again, please, please please. 

“Shh.” A hurried, sloppy order through a mouth sucking and licking saliva trails over her jaw and throat. “Just… shhhh.”

Regina’s hands clenched into fists and she let them fall to the side of her face, thunking as they did. Emma adjusted on top of her, body moving, and Regina felt it all the way through her, their stomachs making contact, breasts against breasts, thighs mixed with thighs. 

With the hand at her hip making sweeping brushes that could be felt all the way down to the soft skin of her underbelly, she almost missed the one that came down to peel open the buttons of her blouse and spread the material. 

“I missed you.” Emma hissed into the shallow of her collarbone, a hot moist explosion of words. “I wanted you, even before I remembered who you were.”

She spread her legs, bent her knees slightly to give Emma more space, let her settle a little easier between her thighs. 

It was not right, it did not feel right, that was what Regina thought even as Emma’s fingers pushed underneath her panties, even as her back arched up, her body opening itself to Emma even further, as Emma’s mouth latched on to her nipple and Regina’s hands lifted to wrap around Emma’s head and hold her closer.  
“More.”

It came out like a plea, like a rasped cry of desperation. And Emma gave her more; more fingers and more kisses and more energy, but what she wanted was more of everything else. More of who Emma used to be, who she used to be, how they were together. 

She came embarrassingly quickly, hot and sticky around Emma’s fingers, and her back fell to the floor with very little grace. Her arms sprawled out next to her head as she panted. 

For her part, Emma withdrew her hand slowly, slid it out of Regina’s skirt as she pulled herself to the side and sat up. Her eyes were shaded and her mouth was open. 

Regina blinked, lazily, and for a moment, a brief ecstatic moment, she thought the worst of things might be over. She reached a hand over to clumsily swipe at Emma’s knee. 

Emma drew back sharply and Regina frowned. 

“Hey.” She forced her languid bones to movement, sat up next to Emma, and tried to lean in close for another kiss. “What’s wrong?”

Everything. Everything is wrong, she realised a second later when Emma pulled back even further. 

“Don’t touch me.” Another shuffle backward and then Emma stood up on shaking legs. “I can’t… not… not with you.”

Regina sat on the floor, clothes askew, and watched as Emma fled up the stairs. 

***


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Regina knew what would happen, but she knew it was time. There was no reason or purpose to keeping up the charade any longer. Emma knew the truth, Henry knew the truth, they could no longer hide it from the rest of the town or the people in it, the people intimately connected to them, than they could fight their very nature._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** *blows dust and cobwebs off this fic* Anyone still reading?  
>  **A/N2:** ... Yeah, I got nothin'. One and a half years is a long time. I suck. We all caught up?  
>  **A/N3:** Thank you, and I really mean this, thank you to EVERYONE who has commented and supported this fic in the meantime, even though it had appeared to be abandoned.

***

The hallway was dark when Regina finally made her way upstairs. 

Dark and quiet. 

The silence felt heavy and blanketing, but she knew better than to think Emma was asleep. In the scant hours since the woman had fled upstairs, Regina was fairly sure that neither of them had felt any peace, let alone felt relaxed enough to slumber. 

It would not even be a far stretch to consider that Henry was still awake, marinating in his confusion and anger. But it was not Henry that she was thinking about just then, not in the middle of the night, not until morning. The whole day could be devoted to him. 

Her eyes felt magnetised to Emma’s door. 

Truly, it had never been Emma’s door very long. Not even two full years ten years ago. Her fingers curled up into her palm hanging next to her thigh as she thought about the reaction she would get if she suggested Emma move back into what had long been considered their room. 

She knew, with absolute certainty, that Emma did not want to be disturbed and would require space. It was an Emma Swan staple. The physical act of running may have been something the changed history had bred into her, but the need to escape had always been there. 

Regina knew she should have gone into her own room.

She knew she should have left well enough alone, changed into some comfortable sleepwear and at least pretend to rest before what would become a very complicated day in the morning. 

She honestly should have been more surprised to watch herself turn the knob of Emma’s door. 

Her eyes found Emma immediately, somehow someway they always found her, even in the dark. Huddled underneath the blankets, Emma had her knees drawn up to her chest as her back rested against the headboard.

Words got stuck in her throat; a jumble of questions and apologies and accusations, but she was spared the need to break the silence. 

“I… I’m sorry.” Needy and broken and desperate, Emma’s voice cracked. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

“No.” Regina agreed, calm and steady as she stepped forward into the dark. “You shouldn’t have, but I shouldn’t have, either.”

Surprise, tinged with a heavy dose of suspicion and disbelief, spread over the shadowed face in the dark. She knew without a doubt the emotions at work behind Emma’s expression. The woman would always believe herself in the wrong and, as a result, would always look for the blame and expected punishment that followed.

And Regina had done nothing but expand upon that fear.

Smoothing her skirt down, she sat gently on the side of the bed and pretended not to notice the slithering under the blanket, the pull of feet away from her.

“I have made no secret of the fact that I miss you, Emma. I would do anything to have you back, to be what we once were. I think you know that. But I also know you’re not ready. You don’t trust me, there is no reason for you to trust me right now; I hurt you. I shouldn’t have pushed… I shouldn’t have…”

_let it go that far… ignored all the warning signs…_

“You don’t need trust to fuck somebody.”

The words hurt. She was not going to deny that as her eyes closed in a flinch, but this was definitely not her first show down with Emma Swan and she was more than familiar with attacking as a desperate defence strategy. 

Emma’s wounds were raw and Regina was salt. 

“No, you don’t.” The created reality of Emma’s history was evident in the air, even without speaking it aloud. “But it will never be just fucking between us, Emma, whether you like it or not.”

“I’m…”

She sighed at the sound of the timid voice and shifted to face the door. Perhaps it would be easier to talk to the wall than it would the guilty, hurt eyes that blinked at her 

“I am sorry, Emma, I have said it so many times that the words have begun to lose their meaning. What I did to you, to you and Henry, will be my biggest regret and I am trying my best to make it up to you, but I refuse to go down this path. I’m not going to apologise again. You either know how I feel by now or you don’t and if you don’t, nothing else I can say will help you.”

It was dark in the room, but her eyes stung like they were staring directly into the light. She felt herself blinking. 

“You have to let me know what you need. If you want to try and work things through together, I’m here. If you want to try to be friends and friends only, just say it. If you want to stay away from me altogether, let me know. You have to pick one and stick to it.”

Giving a shake of her head, Regina let it fall so that she was looking at the tops of her knees. In that moment she felt empty, lost, a hollow, aching shell that was weighted down. 

“But listen to me now; I wronged you, but I am not here to be your emotional punching bag. I will not be thrown back and forth like a yoyo on your string. What you did tonight was cruel and I am not… I am not here… for you to…”

Her voice broke around the words and she could not control the tremble of her shoulders as she swallowed the sobs that tried to bubble up, traitorous, painful, ugly sobs that wanted to turn her inside out. She kept them in, however, with only a tremble of her spine. 

It came soft at first, delicate, but she felt it and she knew it, even without the whisper of blankets shifting. Emma’s hand landing on her shoulder, hesitantly at first and then firmer when no resistance came. 

Regina closed her eyes. This, Emma’s hand with the undeniable heat of a familiar body risen behind her, seemed somehow more intimate than their position hours earlier, when Emma had been looming over her, around her, inside her. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Came the whisper in her ear. “Regina, I didn’t mean to…”

But she had and Regina bent her head to the feel of a soft cheek on the back of her neck, settling down between her shoulder blades. The weight of Emma leaning into her, against her, hand on her shoulder, it left her mouth dry. 

“I know.”

She had always been doomed; her past and her future, but there had been a brief period, all ten years of it, when she had seen the possibility of happiness. Emma and Henry had bought to her something she had thought impossible. 

“I don’t know what to do.”

She knew without a doubt that if she ever wanted a chance to get that back, she had to take the hit. 

“We have to go back.” 

The way Emma, around her and against her, stilled told Regina that they were on the same page, that Emma understood both the surface of the words and all the nuances of meaning underneath. 

***

She knocked on his door, a little bit cautious and just the slightest bit forceful. 

Henry opened the door and looked at her with sullen eyes. 

“It's still a school day.” Her eyes flickered down and then up again, taking in his jeans and casual tee. “C'mon, kid, let's get moving.”

He shrugged and it gnawed something inside her. 

“It doesn't matter.” The growing rebellion in him was completely opposite to the little boy she remembered. “I don't turn up today, everything resets tomorrow, right? Hey, maybe she could plant the entire school year in my brain and I can just stay home forever.”

Emma slipped inside the door and closed it behind her, fingers tracing the line of wood as she did. He stood still as she lifted her hand and cupped the side of his head, she could feel the tension in him trying to resist, until he bent his neck. A subtle, resentful acceptance. 

“Henry, I know.” Because she did know, better than anyone she knew. “Believe me, okay? I've been there, but... we have to do this.”

There was a storm brewing in his face, crumpled forehead and narrowed eyes, brittle stance that rippled with nerves and energy. Her fingers traced the side of his face, the jagged line of his clenched jaw. 

“I know you're angry at her, I am, too, but this is bigger than just her, or me, or even you.” She knelt down then, arm lifted to cup his chin as she looked up to him. “This is about everyone. Snow White... your grandmother.”

Her voice choked on the word, the offer of family that she had pined for so long in her youth, but never had. All those failed prayers and pleadings, the nights wishing, begging to an unseen and unfelt force, the lonely, hollow ache as she watched child after child not her find a home. 

Something she had never thought possible and now, now she could offer it to her son. 

“Your grandfather, Henry. Everyone in this town deserves to know who they are. And this is how we're going to do it.”

She stood up and hooked her arm in with his, bringing him to the bed so that they could sit next to each other. He had grown, larger than her memory, but he still fit in the curve of her arm, was still able to nestle into her side like he had been born for it. 

“And even then, even if we break the curse for them, we cannot forget your mother.”

His jaw tightened and she squeezed her hand around his arm, a gentle reassurance and reminder. 

“Yes, she was the mythical Evil Queen of your book, but that book doesn't tell the whole story, Henry.” A gentle nudge, the rocking of her body into his and the answering push back was rote and familiar. “In any world, for any reason, I do not see your Mom ever doing such awful things without a reason.”

He closed his eyes and she watched his head bow. 

“I know you're angry right now and you have every right to be, but I know you can remember a good mother in her. Don't you think that woman, the one who raised you, deserves a chance to be heard?”

A tremble passed through both of them and it might have come from either of them, but the strangled little groan of protest definitely came from him. 

“There is no excuse!” Stubborn, insistent, determined with every fibre of his being. “Not for what she did to us.”

“No excuse.” She agreed, but wrapped her arm around his shoulder to curl her fingers around his arm. “You're right, there Is no excuse for her actions, but I'm talking about reasons. She did not wake up one morning and ask herself what the most effective way to ruin our lives was.”

Emma baulked on her words, they had been said to Henry, but they spoke to her. 

“She loves us, Henry, you must know that. I don't think she was shown how to properly do that in her life before we came along.”

His shoulders sagged against her; a weary capitulation, but one she would grasp with both hands. One she might sever completely if her following words backfired. 

“Do you remember learning to ride your bike?”

Several second passed, along with several bickering emotions, the soft jiggle of his head as he perked up followed by the unconscious rotation of his forearm and, lastly, the tensing of his little body and the narrowing of his eyes. 

“I think, but it's not real is it?”

Emma bit her lip. 

“I think the heart of it is, even if I'm not there.” Yet another slice across her heart. “You broke your arm.”

She could picture it now, the tiny little limb in its seemingly too large cast, the guilt that hovered over both her and Regina, the weeks of wrapping it in plastic when he bathed, that horrid shriek of the plaster saw she watched come so, so close to his tender skin as they cut it off. 

“I didn't want to ride ever again.”

His voice had taken on a dream like quality and she could practically read the thought processes in his attempt. She had to bite down on the urge to question his memories, to ask again and again until she could picture it the way he did, to see what had replaced what she remembered. How it had happened without the big, black Emma shaped hole she imagined when she tried to think about his life without her; a cartoon Emma silhouette. 

“But Mom convinced me to get back on.”

Only, no, not so much. Regina had been ready to throw the bike away, had been very close to declaring a town wide ban on bicycles altogether, and it had been Emma that had encouraged both of them. 

“And now you ride that thing everywhere, don't you?” Another nudge of her shoulder against his. “Nobody is perfect at something when they first learn how to do it, this isn't any different.”

***

There were many magical things she missed about that lost land, but there was honestly one magic in this land that could top them all. 

Regina watched eagle eyed as the pot bubbled. 

Caffeine. 

Truly the most powerful magic of them all, second perhaps only to apple cider, but it was only seven-thirty in the morning and she might have been existing on two and a half hours sleep, but she was not a savage. 

Her eyes ached and her head pounded. She had not slept well and doubted she would sleep any time soon. 

“Mmmmngggg.” 

Emma seemed to agree. 

She turned to watch her enter the kitchen, surprised to note Henry slinking in behind. 

“Good Morning.”

It was an attempt at an apology, a bridge, and while he didn't answer or look directly at her, he didn't openly glare or claim she was the epitome of all things evil, so she counted it as a positive. 

She handed Emma a cup.

“To you, too.”

Emma was not shy about glaring. 

“It's early... Early is never good.”

At least that would never change. Sleepless Emma was a grumpy Emma. 

“Does anyone want breakfast?”

There were varying sounds of complaint or agreement and she took it to mean it would be better to wait. Her finger tapped on the side of her mug and she tried to ignore the heavy silence in the room. 

“How do you break a curse?”

Henry was the first to speak. 

Neither she, nor Emma, had an answer for him. It was the same question they'd been asking for days. 

“We visit Gold again.”

Emma nodded over her mug. They'd discussed that much. 

“Mr. Gold?” Henry's eyes flicked between them. “Why him?”

She was on the verge of telling him not to worry about it, to gloss over the importance of it to negate the spark of interest that could cause nothing but trouble, when Emma jumped in. 

“Rumplestiltskin.”

His eyes widened, but he didn't press the issue. 

“He's just going to tell us the same thing.”

Regina hated to be the nay sayer of the group, but she did have the distinct advantage of actually knowing the imp and his games. 

“Yeah.” Emma looked at her, all wide eyed innocence. “Then I punch him 'til he tells us more.”

“Emma!”

But a slight grin tickled the edge of her scowl before she could push it down. By the gleam of Emma's eye, she knew it had been seen. 

“It's his curse, Regina, and he's much too relaxed about it not to know exactly what's going on.”

That was true. 

Too true. 

“So we go talk to him?”

Their eyes met over his head and they both turned to Henry at the same time. 

“We.” Emma repeated, pointing at herself and Regina. “Will go talk to him. You will go to school.”

He glared at them and Regina was relieved to note that he didn't argue further. It felt good, and surprisingly natural, to be working with Emma again after struggling for so long to be her adversary. 

“And stay there.” She added. “No sneaking out.”

His glare deepened. 

“Now.” She said like closing the door on the conversation. “Breakfast?”

***

_Regina lifted a pair of jeans and looked at them._

_They lacked the heart clenching, impossible smallness of the ones he'd worn as a baby, but they were still small enough to make her smile. They were minuscule enough to fold twice into a neat little bundle to be added to his pile. The next pair of jeans was significantly larger and made her smile for an entirely different reason as she remembered peeling them off long, lean legs._

_“Regina!”_

_The voice made her look up in surprise. She hadn't heard the car outside or the front door opening and surely the time had not flown that quickly. Yet that was definitely Emma calling her out of her reverie._

_“Welcome home.”_

_Even she could hear the deepening of her voice, that special tone used between them, and by the look on Emma's face as she rounded the door, it was obvious to her as well._

_“Missed me, did you?”_

_Miss was one of those severe understatements that was so blatant it wasn't even worth correcting. The feeling when Emma was gone for days on end went so far beyond those four measly letters._

_“I did. Care to make me feel better?”_

_The undertone of the suggestion did not go unnoticed._

_“Well, I may eat like a child.” Emma teased. “But you're insatiably greedy like one.”_

_Abandoning the half folded clothes, she could not resist moving forward and slid her hands onto Emma's hips to pull her close. Their bodies pressed together made it easier for her to breathe again._

_“But you'll have to wait.” A hand at her chest pushed her back and Emma grinned at her, greatly amused. “Come look what I got!”_

_She let herself be led out of the laundry and into the foyer. It took her exactly one point three seconds to see what Emma had been talking about._

_“Emma.” Her voice failed her. “That's... that...”_

_Looking up, she saw the bright, hopeful, proud look shining back at her. And even though Regina could clearly see the edge of nerves, that small little girl that would never quite stop expecting censure and rejection, she could not lie._

_“Emma, that is hideous.”_

_And Emma grinned._

_“I know! Isn't it brilliant?”_

_“That's definitely a word for it. You spent money on that?”_

_Emma nodded._

_“Yup!”_

_“And you brought it home?”_

_Another happy nod._

_“And now you expect to display it here, in our home, where we live, eat, and breathe?”_

_The grin did not waiver, Emma looked her straight in the eyes without blinking and enunciated clearly._

_“Yes.”_

_Regina looked at the lamp. The gaudy, cheap looking, brightly coloured monstrosity that could not have come from anywhere but a second hand shop. It seemed to glare right back at her with a cheer that was menacing._

_She nodded back at Emma once._

_“Don't expect me to clean it.”_

_And then she turned and went back to the laundry._

_It was only a moment before she felt the arms sliding around her waist and the lips at the back of her neck._

_She did not mention the large, growing warmth in her chest. She knew, without thinking about it, that if she spoke it out loud, made a big deal of the moment, it would be a long time before it ever happened again._

_Emma had bought something for the house._

_Without asking for permission._

_As if she felt she truly belonged._

***

They walked into the shop with its ever present tinkling bell and Emma didn't exactly want to think the words 'in unison' or 'in sync', but they were definitely together. 

And they definitely meant business. 

Mr Gold, when he turned around, did not seem surprised to see them, nor the fact that the curse still stood even though he apparently had given them the answer. 

Emma turned sideways and leant her hip against the counter. It left him and his manipulative, smug expression in the periphery of her vision and Regina the focus of it. 

“So.” She began. “You want to do the honours?”

Regina smiled, a polite, icy expression that did not reach her eyes. 

“Not at all.” The lilt of her voice was calm, amused, and slightly dangerous. Emma saw the corners of Gold's mouth fall. “I'm sure your physical prowess for exceeds mine right now and you'll get more accurate information out of him in less time.”

Emma nodded thoughtfully and flexed her knuckles. 

“You're right. You wanna hold him down?”

Two hands came down on the glass counter, spread out as if claiming space. 

“As amusing as this little play acting is...”

He did not finish his sentence. 

Emma's hand had sprung out, caught his collar and tie, and pulled him smack down onto the glass. 

“Who's fucking play acting?”

Even Regina seemed surprised, she noted, if the widening of her eyes was any indication. 

Emma leaned down and spoke into his ear. 

“Not sure if you know this, but I'm having some really intense trust issues right now. And you lying to us yesterday just makes the whole thing worse. So, you're going to tell us what we need, everything we need, or a limp is going to be the least of your goddamned issues. Am I making myself clear?”

“Well...” If he was going to continue to be smug, he was damned lucky Regina had her hand cupped around Emma's elbow, half restraint half support. “When you put it like that, I have just the thing.”

She waited. 

He stayed silent. 

Regina tapped her foot. 

“Well?”

It might have been emphasised by a jerk to his tie. 

“If you want me to get it, Ms Swan.” He enunciated slowly, like he was talking to a dim witted child. “You're going to have to let me go.”

She did. 

It wasn't her fault he fell backwards when she did. There was absolutely no reason for him to give her that look. None at all. 

For her part, Regina did her best to frown at her, but Emma knew her too well to be fooled. 

Mr Gold disappeared into the back room and it took all of her efforts not to stalk him like a mark about to flee. Regina smiled at her ready stance , apparently knowing her train of thought. 

“Going for the subtle approach, Emma?” 

She shrugged. 

“Subtle was yesterday. He lied.”

That answer was accepted, apparently. 

“Fair point.”

When he came back into the front of the shop carrying a large box, the last thing Emma had expected was her father's sword.

***

_Emma had never felt more inappropriate in her life._

_Considering the amount of isolation and other-ness that had plagued her as a child, not to mention her teenage crime spree that had ended with her pregnant in juvie with nothing but a stolen car to her name, that was really saying something._

_“Emma?” She felt arms come around her waist from behind and Regina's chin come to rest on her shoulders. “Will you please tell me what's wrong?”_

_No._

_No, she really could not._

_“I'm fine.” She said instead. “Honestly.”_

_She heard and felt the inhalation next to her ear. A sure sign of building frustration._

_“Don't lie to me.”_

_“Is Mama fibbing?” They both looked to the door and saw Henry standing there, his brow furrowed in an exaggerated look of disapproval. “Fibbing is not allowed in this house.”_

_He was too big and too little all at once, with thin little legs sticking out of his shorts and a lock of persistent hair that fell over his left eye no matter how they cut it, his eyes were wide and knowing. He had the educated expression of a boy whose first month of schooling had taught him everything he would ever need to know and made him an expert on everything else._

_Especially rules._

_“You're right, young man.” Regina's arms left her and Emma felt the cool air that flowed against her back at the loss. “It really isn't.”_

_Emma pouted and poked her tongue out._

_“Thanks kid. Don't you have some blocks to build?”_

_He looked her straight in the eye like a challenge._

_“I'm hungry.”_

_Emma did not back down._

_“Then eat something.”_

_Regina sighed loudly._

_“I don't know who is worse.”_

_They pointed at the same time._

_“She is!”_

_“He is!”_

_“Dinner won't be long, but you can have an apple.”_

_Before Regina had finished speaking, Emma had already grabbed one out of the bowl and tossed it to him. Carefully. Gently. He still fumbled, but managed to catch it before it hit the ground. She blew him a kiss before he turned to walk away and listened for the familiar and well practiced resulting sound of his own kiss being blown back at her._

_“You needle him too much.”_

_“He loves it, besides...” She pointed out. “... he started it.”_

_Regina's face turned completely serious._

_“By pointing out the truth?”_

_Emma felt herself shrink down on the stool with hunched shoulders. She knew Regina had noticed her mood, but she couldn't explain it. Shouldn't._

_It was ugly. And ungrateful._

_“Hey, no.” A hand clicked in front of her face. “I know that expression and it never leads anywhere helpful. Emma, you can tell me anything.”_

_Henry was five years old. She had spent five years with Regina, learning her, knowing her, and being known in return. Regina had always kept her promises, she had not, not once, rejected Emma for any mistake, real or perceived. Had not treated Emma any less than an equal. Had always, always accepted and loved all the parts of her. Good or bad._

_She fingered the white petal of a rose in front of her._

_“Emma?”_

_Gentle. Encouraging._

_She wondered if there was a limit. There had to be. There had to be a point that Regina would grow tired of her, the last straw on the stressed camel's back that Regina would finally learn about her, see right down to the core of her, and throw her out like everyone before._

_It hadn't happened yet, but that almost made it worse, would make it that much harder to recover._

_No._

_She had to stop thinking like that._

_Regina would never..._

_Regina was the one person she trusted above all._

_“Do you plan on talking to me? Or are you just going to sit there sulking, shredding my father's roses?”_

_She obviously did not hide her flinch well enough._

_Regina walked to the other side of the bench and leaned down, all the better to look her in the eye, to grab her attention._

_“Emma? Does this morose mood have anything to do with me visiting my father's grave each week?”_

_If she had any brains at all, Emma would shake her head._

_But it bobbed up and down slowly._

_“Would you like to come?”_

_Understandably, Regina sounded confused. It was a subject they'd talked about before and Emma had been once or twice, but mostly let Regina visit her father in peace, gave her the space to remember him._

_“No...”_

_“No, but...?”_

_Emma took a deep breath in._

_“I was jealous.”_

_Silence._

_Regina looked at her._

_“Of... my father's grave?”_

_Emma's head dropped down to the bench, narrowly missing the bouquet that was ready to go whenever Regina did._

_“See? It's wrong. I mean, I'm horrible, right? Here I am sitting here thinking you're lucky that you have part of your parents and a history and you can still talk to him, because you knew him, when all the while it's awful because he's gone and you only have his grave to visit and I'm a gross, gross person that should never talk to real people.”_

_“Emma.” She felt the hand that landed on the top of her skull, a soft familiar pressure. “You're making it sound worse than it is.”_

_Somewhere she found the ability to lift her head to look at Regina._

_“Really?”_

_And Regina nodded, her eyes looking at her like they normally would and not as if Emma had just completely disgusted the ever living daylights out of her._

_“You're not jealous of my dead father; you're sad that you never experienced having one, or a mother for that matter, that you have nothing of or from them except a blanket, and that's a valid feeling.”_

_An overwhelming flood of relief hit her and she felt every muscle in her body relax._

_“I'm sorry.”_

_“Nothing to be sorry about. Thank you for being honest.” Regina leaned even further over the counter top and kissed her forehead. “Now, I'm going make some dinner.”_

***

Regina understood. 

She understood a lot of things. She had lived lifetimes and worlds worth of understanding. It was not an easy situation, it was never going to be an easy situation and some patience was definitely required. So she stood. She waited. 

And Emma laughed. 

Not the good kind of laughter, with joy and elation and honesty bursting through, but its darker, seedier cousin, laced with hysteria and disbelief and a lifetime of coincidences that were grossly unfair when the truth came to light. 

Eventually the laughter stopped as they stood there in the middle of the street. 

“I need a drink.”

Any other time and she would have agreed. 

“Emma, it's nine thirty in the morning.”

“Is it?” Came the challenge, Emma's voice still registering high with emotion. “Is it really? Who the fuck knows, Regina?”

She could only stand back and watch as Emma turned in a circle, eyeing the town around them, and Regina turned to look as well. Storybrooke. Her town. A picturesque little village with mostly friendly people and no inflation. She had lived decades without change, had grown comfortable and relaxed and almost forgotten how false it really was. 

“I mean, counting the time seems a bit arbitrary right now, don't you think?” Emma turned to face her, hoisting the sword in her hands. “I'm a little busy preparing to go down underneath the town library to fight a dragon. A dragon!”

The hysteria in her voice was not entirely unwarranted. 

“Your best friend, by the way, which you – as the Evil Queen – trapped underneath the town for decades, so I'm thinking she's not gonna be happy. Oh, and just for kicks, the dragon is Maleficent! It only gets better, because I'm actually going on this quest to recover a vial of true love. True love magic made from my parents, who are Snow White and Prince Charming, to end a curse you cast the day I was born. Am I getting this right? Like, have I left anything out?”

“I think that pretty much sums it up, yes.” 

The absurdity hit them both in the moment and Regina could practically feel the smile that was edging Emma's mouth, until the woman sighed and looked serious again. 

“Have you thought about what happens when I go down there?”

She looked at the boarded up library door and back. 

“Well, she's a dragon, so fire is probably to be expected.”

But Emma held up her hand. 

“No, I mean...” The words stopped, like they were stuck, and Emma swallowed before meeting her eyes. “What happens now, between us?”

Things had suddenly become real. All the while they had been planning to end the curse, she had not registered it, not truly, she knew it because the weight of it hit her in that moment. 

Regina did not know what to say. She knew what would happen. They'd talked about this. There was no possibility for anything between the two of them when she was either dead or imprisoned. The way Emma's eyes flickered down to her hand told Regina that she could not hide the tremble there. Or her fear. 

She knew what would happen, but she knew it was time. There was no reason or purpose to keeping up the charade any longer. Emma knew the truth, Henry knew the truth, they could no longer hide it from the rest of the town or the people in it, the people intimately connected to them, than they could fight their very nature. 

Regina had lived decades in peace and several of those years actually happy with a family. 

There was nothing else she could ask for. 

It was much more than she deserved. 

It was time and she knew it. 

“Does everything disappear and we all go back to some magic land? Or does everyone just turn into Disney characters and remain here?”

She bit her lip. Emma felt it too: the pressure of impending change, the inevitability of chaos once they moved forward. 

“If you get your magic back, will you use it again? Will you use it on people? On me?”

And she heard the question, heard it, enough to make her gasp. 

“I'm not going to hurt you, Emma, not again.” It came out quickly, automatically, without thought, and once her brain had caught up she continued. “I wouldn't use it on anyone, not like that. I don't feel... “

The need. There was no longer any need to lash out and punish those around her, make them feel all the pain she had gone through. That deep, dark need was gone and all that was left was an empty ache she had no idea how to get rid of. 

“Look after Henry.”

The words were superfluous, she knew Emma would. It went without saying, really, but she needed to get the words out. Needed to mention him at least once. She didn't know how the curse would break or what would happen, where they would end up, did not know how everyone else would react or what they would do, did not knew if she would see him again before the worst came into play. 

She had touched his shoulder that morning as they'd said goodbye to him, sending him to school, and he had not shrugged her off. She would have much preferred to lean over and kiss his forehead, to measure the familiar warmth of his skin one last time, but he would not have let her do that, not when he still felt so betrayed. 

“Regina...”

“Don't let him see.” 

“No.” Emma set her jaw, her eyes narrowed. “I'm not gonna let that happen, Regina, whatever you're thinking. I have a sword. After this dragon, I will fight for you.”

It felt like such a cruel piece of hope. 

She watched, curious, as Emma reached out with her free hand and took hers. Their fingers wound into each other easily, a move practiced over years. 

“It's not perfect and it's not okay. I am still angry, there are so many issues, but...” Emma lifted up their joined hands. “If we do this, we do it together.”

The swallow she took at that word stuck in her chest, a heavy ball that felt as if it would pull her down with fear and hope and confusion. 

“Together?”

Emma nodded and stepped forward. 

It was a light kiss, devoid of passion or need, but long overdue, full of feeling and promise. 

“Now.” Emma pulled back, leaving Regina stunned. “Let's go kick a dragon's ass.”

***

end chapter ten.


End file.
